


Rebound

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s04e23 25, F/M, Original Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-02
Updated: 2003-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-30 21:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?





	1. Rebound

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  


**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

_5:00 am, Sunday_

_She could hear something, someone coming closer. She kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to see._

_The prick of the needle in her arm took away her choices._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is it done?"

"Yes."

"How's the President?"

"Which one?" His stab at wry humor didn't mask the bitterness, frustration, and fear in Josh's voice. He slouched against the doorframe of his office with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes downcast, the long, maddening hours of the night were reflected in the lines and shadows on his face.

"I meant our President," Donna whispered, standing behind his desk, the list of senior Congressional leaders marked up as she had called each one, arranging, per Josh's instructions, for a leadership meeting at 1:00 in the afternoon. "President Bartlet."

Josh looked up when he heard the hitch in her voice. He caught the hint of tears in the corners of her ice-blue eyes, which she frantically wiped away with the backs of her hands. 

"He seems..." he struggled for the right word. "He seems relieved," shaking his head as he remembered Walken and Leo's comments less than 15 minutes earlier.

"No parent..." She drew in a shaky breath, and he moved towards her.

"Come here," he said softly.

"I'm alright," she said, waving him off, and grinding the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

"I think my girlfriend needs a hug, and I know, sure as hell, that I do," he quietly insisted, moving around the desk.

"Josh, what's the protocol here?" 

They both froze, as Amy barged into the office. 

"Do the Bartlets remain in the residence or do they have to move out? Do I pack up my stuff from my office? What am I supposed to be doing?"

Josh dug deep for patience, but couldn't quite disguise the sharpness in his voice. "It's a little early to be calling the moving vans, Amy. Maybe you could offer some personal support to Mrs. Bartlet?"

"Ellie and Liz arrived about a half hour ago and she told me to go home. Actually, she's been avoiding me all night," Amy responded bitterly. "I'm not much of a hand-holder, you know that. I want to do something productive. I need to work."

"Right now it's about what your boss needs. Why don't you go home," Josh answered, and added "for now," when he saw the fire in Amy's eyes.

"Because I think I should be doing something," Amy insisted. "What are you working on?"

"The congressional leadership meeting." Josh held up his hand as Amy started forward. "Forget it. It wouldn't be appropriate for you to be part of this."

"Why?" Amy demanded. "I know the players as well as you do."

"Because this is a delicate tightrope we're walking here," Josh snapped. "And I want Walken to see that we're using West Wing staff."

Amy flashed a glance at Donna who'd been silent throughout. "What's Donna doing?"

"I'm just..." Donna started to explain, but Josh cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Amy, I don't have time for this now," Josh warned. "Maybe you should offer your services to Mrs. Walken."

"She's on the board of the Luce Policy Institute," Amy complained. "She wants to roll back Roe, she objects to women serving in the military, she's . . ."

"Married to the current President of the United States," Josh interrupted, grabbing a pile of note cards off his desk and flipping through them.

An uneasy silence descended.

Amy gave Donna a pleading look.

Donna shook her head, indicating a negative response to Amy's unspoken request.

Josh glanced up just in time to catch Donna's response. Sighing, he slapped the cards down on the desk. "What do you want? Should I call Leo? Tell him we've got another problem for him to deal with?"

"Hey J." Amy reached out and touched Josh's arm, flinching when he jerked away. "I don't want to fight with you. I just want to help. I've known the Bartlets longer than you." 

Josh didn't answer, his face was emotionless.

Donna filled the silence. "Why don't you call Jillian Smith a little later this morning. She runs the Speaker's office and can probably tell you if Mrs. Walken could use some help," Donna offered quietly.

"Yeah, okay," Amy answered grudgingly. "If you’re sure that I can't . . ."

"No," Josh answered, before she could finish. "I've got all the help I need."

With a final glance at the two of them, Amy left the office.

Josh followed behind her and closed the door. Turning to face Donna, he offered a small smile as he opened his arms. "But I could use that hug now."

She moved quickly into his embrace. 

He held her close, finally relaxing as he inhaled the sweet, clean scent of her hair, felt her arms around him, her head nestled on his shoulder.

"What happens next?" she whispered.

"First, the Leadership meeting, calls to our allies, I'm sure some of the embassies will be asking for..."

"No," Donna interrupted, leaning back to face him. "What happens next with the investigation?" She paused, then added tentatively, "Something’s been bothering me about all of this."

"What do you mean?"

"It just doesn't make sense. I know we got that fax from the kidnappers, but why did they send it to you? How did they know Zoey would go to the bathroom? How did the kidnapper get the jump on Molly? And why didn't Zoey push her panic button? And why did they go to Dover, Delaware? And..."

"I'm sure they're trying to answer all those questions right now," Josh insisted, pulling her back close to him.

"I'm sure they are," Donna said, "but something about all of this just doesn't make sense. Why would terrorists kidnap the President's daughter?"

"To get him to release the prisoners they requested," Josh offered.

"But he didn't. In fact, all it did was mean that President Bartlet stepped down temporarily. They must have known he wouldn't negotiate. And it means the Republicans are now in power. But that doesn't help the Qumari terrorists. The Republicans are even tougher on..."

"You suggesting this is a Republican plot to grab the Presidency?" Josh laughed quietly. "To get what they couldn't win in the election? You're getting too cynical, Donnatella Moss. You've been hanging out with too many hard-assed politicos."

"Just one hard-assed politico," she joked. "Or at least he has the cutest ass... Ouch." Donna rubbed her bottom.

"I was just pinching the cutest ass." He smiled.

"Seriously, Josh," Donna said suddenly pensive again. "Something's funny about this kidnapping. Something doesn't add up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:10 am - Sunday morning

"Excuse me, Mrs. Bartlet?" Debbie Fiderer stood in the open doorway, searching the darkened room for the First Lady.

"Come in." The tone of Abbie Bartlet's voice indicated a mixture of exhaustion and trepidation.

"Is there news? Something about Zoey?"

"No. I'm sorry." Debbie carefully navigated her way through the shadows over to the sofa where the First Lady was reclining. "I just got here and wanted to see if there was anything I could do for you or the President."

"No. All I need is my daughter back. Well," Abbey said, swinging her stockinged feet to the floor, "that and another drink. Will you join me?"

Abbey didn't wait for Debbie to answer before stumbling towards the crystal decanter on a side table. "I find that brandy is more effective than the sedative the White House doctor left for me."

"As long as you're not mixing the two," Debbie commented, sitting down beside her as Abbey returned to the sofa and handed her an over-filled glass of the amber liquid.

"I may have forfeited my license but not my medical training," the First Lady mumbled, sipping her drink. She waved off Debbie's apology, saying, "I've given up a lot to live in this mausoleum: my career, my privacy, probably a good chunk of my husband's life expectancy, and now my daughter. If I want to get drunk and run screaming down the corridors tonight - or I guess it's this morning now - anyway, I'm entitled."

Debbie sat her glass on the coffee table, the drink untouched. "Yes, Ma'am, you are. But nothing I've heard indicates that you should give up on getting Zoey back. Ron Butterfield is not going to stop until he finds her."

Abbey stared at her husband's executive assistant, noticing her unusual appearance for the first time. "What are you wearing? And more importantly where were you wearing it?"

Debbie ruefully glanced down at the cherry-apple red, fringed replica of a 1920s flapper dress. "I was in Atlantic City when we heard the news. I didn't take the time to go home to change. Perhaps my lucky feather boa is a bit much for the White House?"

Abbey reached out a hand and touched the end of the well-worn purple accessory hanging from Debbie's neck. "Poker?" she asked, a slight smile flashing across her face. "I heard about your success at Jed's poker night."

"Yes, Ma'am. We went down yesterday evening..."

"Wait a minute," Abbey mused, taking another swallow of brandy. "Who is 'we'?"

Slightly embarrassed to be discussing her date with the First Lady, especially under the circumstances, Debbie quickly mumbled, "Mackenzie Sullivan."

"Oh. From our trip to Camp David? I loved his dog. Whiskey, wasn't it?" Abbey looked down at her near-empty glass. "Which reminds me..."

"Reminds you of what?" Jed Bartlet had entered the room without either of the women noticing.

He flipped on an overhead light, bathing the room with sudden light.

All three occupants blinked. Abbey and Debbie because they had been sitting in the near dark for almost twenty minutes. Jed Bartlet because of the unexpected sight of his executive assistant's attire.

The President was at a loss for words for several seconds. He was trying to remember what the jeweled headband with the feather stuck in back was called. 

Abbey filled in the silence. "Reminds me that Zoey first mentioned her trip to France during our weekend at Camp David - you know the weekend we spent there with the Senior Staff right after Easter?"

"Yeah." Jed stuck his hands in his pants' pockets. "Too bad we ever let Jean-Paul down out of that tree."


	2. Rebound 2

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

5:20 am, Sunday morning

"CJ Cregg." Cradling the phone on her shoulder, the long-limbed Press Secretary rubbed her eyes gingerly, ready to forfeit all pretense of vanity. Her contact lenses felt like sandpaper in her eyes after almost 24 hours without sleep.

"It's me," came the familiar voice of a redhaired reporter. "How are you?" he asked softly.

"Just fine, no thanks to you," she answered brusquely. "What do you want, Daniel?"

"Hey, CJ - you're not blaming me for Zoey's kidnapping, are you?" 

She could hear the hurt in his voice, but tamped down any memories of stolen moments between them. "If you hadn't pushed this stupid investigation," she accused.

"Come on. This didn't happen because I found a cricket player in Bermuda," Danny pleaded. "I'm calling because I'm worried about you."

She smiled and relaxed a little. It wasn't often that someone worried about competent, professional, CJ Cregg, but for some reason, this dogged Washington Post reporter did. She remembered the first time - he had stalked her outside the Supreme Court building, offering gloves and unsolicited advice. She'd appreciated the offer of the gloves even if she hadn't taken them, the advice she'd ignored. They had replayed that scenario in one form or another off and on for five years. He worried and offered help. She declined but appreciated that he was the one person in D.C. who seemed to remember she was a woman, not just a Press Secretary.

"I'm fine, Fishboy," she answered, this time with a gentleness tinged with sadness. "This situation is just so damn hard. Abbey is devastated."

"I heard that she came to the press room. The Boston Globe photographer got a shot of her before you pulled her out. It'll be on the front page tomorrow."

CJ sighed, cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder, and popped out one of her contact lens. With her free hand she opened her desk drawer, searching for a case. "Doesn't matter, let them." 

She found the case and slipped the lens in it. "Abbey just wanted to plead for her daughter's release, but Amy reminded her that she was the First Lady. And God knows the First Lady isn't supposed to ... Danny, all she wanted to be . . . " and she had to stop as tears threatened to spill over.

She took out the other lens and placed it in the little plastic container, then rubbed furiously at her eyes. She didn't have time to cry.

"All she wanted to be was Zoey's mother," Danny finished. "It's a damn shame."

"I'm so tired, Danny," CJ whispered, slumping down in her chair, her fingers reflexively twisting her hair.

"Can't you take an hour or two - Surely Walken has people to ..."

"It's not that kind of tired. I mean I'm exhausted because I haven't slept and we've been running on empty for hours, but ... but I feel like I've stepped into deep water and some kind of rip tide is pulling at me. The harder I struggle against it, the farther I seem to get from shore. But if I quit struggling, I know I'll go under. What will we do if the kidnappers ..."

"I'm here for you, CJ - me and my water-wings. Just know I'll always be here to help you out of any body of water you've fallen into. They’ll find Zoey ... they’ll find her soon. You just need to hang on for a little longer. I know it’s hard on you, babe. I wish I could be there just to hold you for a little while and maybe you could grab a few minutes of sleep."

"Water-wings?" she responded, a small smile appearing for a moment on her tired face.

"Well, contrary to what you might have assumed, I'm not the greatest swimmer. I like to stay 'in' the boat. But you get the general idea."

"Come on back to my office. Go to the West Wing gate and I’ll sneak you in," CJ said eagerly. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep without you here. I'll meet you there in ..."

"I can't," Danny said ruefully.

"Why not?" CJ was confused. 

"I'm working. In fact that was one of the reasons I called. I needed to ask . . ."

She sat up straight, anger flooding her system. "Go to hell, Concannon."

"No, CJ, listen to me. I've been hearing things," Danny pleaded.

"The White House has no comment on whatever plot or scenario you've got going. I can't believe ... " CJ struggled for control. "You've got a lot of nerve."

"Damn it, Claudia Jean. Listen to me for once. My Qumari contacts tell me that they had nothing to do with Zoey's kidnapping. Hell, they know exactly what happened to Shareef’s plane, but insist they've gotten more mileage diplomatically out of placing the blame on Israel. They want American bases in Qumar - it's big bucks and gives them important leverage. This isn't something they'd do. I think someone else has her. Can you ..."

"Peddle that fantasy somewhere else, Danny. Tell your contacts that they'd better not touch a hair on Zoey's head," CJ warned.

"CJ, listen to me. I'm telling you that multiple sources are insisting ..."

"You can keep your damn sources, Danny, and your sympathy. I’ll see you in the press room, if I don't pull your credentials. And you can get your toothbrush and spare shirt out of my apartment." She slammed down the phone and fought the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her, frustrated that she’d let down her guard and believed for even a moment that a Press Secretary and reporter could have a future. Leo had been right. Danny Concannon had no place in her life . . .maybe no one did, and the tears which she’d been fighting for hours finally spilled over and she buried her face in her hands. 

"CJ?" came a tentative voice from the doorway. 

The Press Secretary looked up, wiping away the evidence of her despair. She was relieved to see a blurry Donna standing there, looking as tired and overwhelmed as she felt.

"You okay?"

"Sure," CJ offered, paused, then admitted to the younger woman. "Not really. That was ... ," pointing to the phone, "that was my ex ... um, that was Danny. I thought he was calling to see how I was, but then he launched into a cockamamie story about the kidnapping not being associated with Qumar terrorists. He just wanted an exclusive and a headline," she added bitterly, opening a drawer and pulling out a spare pair of eye glasses.

"Oh, CJ. I don't believe that. I'm sure he's worried about you," Donna insisted, then lowered her voice. "And he's not the only one who wonders about the kidnapping and the official explanation not making sense."

CJ looked up, shock written on her face. "What do you mean?"

"You won't think I'm crazy? Josh didn't even want to listen." CJ could hear the apprehension and disappointment in the blonde assistant’s voice.

"I trust your instincts," CJ said flatly, putting on her glasses and bringing Donna's face into focus. "Actually, when he’s not tired and worried, so does Josh. Sit down and tell me what you think is going on."

"It's just that ... Well, something doesn't make sense to me," Donna began, frowning. "I just don't buy that Qumari terrorists kidnapped Zoey. It's all based on a fortuitous visit to the bathroom, plus how did someone get the jump on Molly? She was well aware of the threats from the missing terrorists and was on the lookout, and yet there doesn't seem to have been any struggle at all ... and while I'm not claiming to be an expert on foreign relations, I don't understand how the Qumaris benefit from kidnapping Zoey. Sure they’ve complained strongly and loudly about Shareef’s assassination, but actually they've benefitted from it in a strange way. They've gotten lots of diplomatic mileage from Shareef’s death." 

Donna stopped, unable to read the expression on CJ’s face, then added, "I'm sorry. Maybe I've been reading too many spy novels." She leaned forward in her chair. "Do you think I'm being ridiculous?"

CJ paused, then reached for the phone. "I don't know what to think, but I know someone who seems to believe ... well, someone I need to hear out. But, I've got some apologies to offer first." She quickly dialed a familiar number and waited for an answer. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:20 am, Sunday morning

Josh wandered out to Donna's desk. He didn't have anything specifically for her to do workwise, but he was pretty sure that he'd hurt her feelings when he brushed off her crazy theory about Zoey’s kidnapping. It wasn’t that she was right, he considered, but that as a boyfriend he ought to have been a little more sensitive to her emotions.

"Boyfriend and sensitive," he chuckled. "Who'd have put those two words in the same sentence with my name?" Then he smiled, for the first time in hours, when he thought about his girlfriend, Donnatella Moss. He needed to get used to being part of a couple and using the proper terminology. Girlfriend - Boyfriend - He felt like he should be offering her his letter-jacket. Of course, first he'd have to buy one. Too bad his high school had only offered them to football jocks as a badge of their physical skill and prowess. Josh grinned as he remembered thinking that being a member of the Debate Team was plenty dangerous. His old archenemy Chuckie Carlson had been vicious. Chuckie could whip out his note cards with lightning speed and eviscerate any challenger. Josh had felt the sting of those note cards many times. Speaking of note cards, where was Donna?

Not at her desk. Josh filed the memory of a pimply-faced, paisley-vested, teenaged terminator away as he drifted through the bullpen looking for Donna. He realized that good or bad, the past traveled with him. A scent, a stray thought, and the memories flashed through his mind like a string of Black Cat firecrackers, one memory setting off another. He'd have to remember to tell that to Donna. She'd like that image.

Donna. He thought maybe they'd head to his apartment and catch a nap together before meeting with the Congressional leadership. All he wanted was to hold his girlfriend in his arms for a few hours and stop thinking - just for a little while. If he could, he was sure that he’d be able to cope with almost anything, even an adult version of Chuckie Carlson wearing a Senator's lapel pin.

A glance in the Roosevelt Room revealed no Donna, but out of the corner of his eye he spotted Charlie, sitting alone in the darkened conference room.

"Hey, you okay?" Josh asked, pushing open the door.

"Fine," Charlie murmured, staring at a white sheet of paper on his lap.

Josh moved into the room and headed for the light switch.

"Don't," the Presidential assistant said sharply. Lowering his voice, he added, "I just want a few minutes - it's been - it's been a long night and -"

Josh could hear the strangled sob and started to look away. He was uncomfortable and unsure of what to do, but then abruptly moved to the side of the young assistant’s chair and knelt down to face him, putting his hand on Charlie’s arm.

"They'll find her and then the President will resume power and things will be normal again, better even - because you and Zoey will be together." Josh knew he was rambling, trying to hit the right note so that Charlie, clearly devastated by the events of the last 6 hours, would find some comfort. Instead, he was startled by the convulsive sobs that wracked the young man’s body.

"Shhh, they'll find her. She's gonna be okay, and she needs you to be strong now and later when she comes home," Josh said soothingly.

"It's my fault," Charlie sobbed, wiping the tears that wouldn't stop from his cheeks.

"Don't be ridiculous," Josh said sharply. "Save your anger and blame for the Qumari terrorists who are holding Zoey. We'll get them and make them pay."

"She didn’t want to go to the club last night," Charlie whispered. "She asked why she couldn't stay with me instead. She went to the arboretum because she was confused about Jean-Paul. She told me that he wanted to do ecstasy last night and I still insisted that she meet him. I was so sure that she would head out for France in the morning with her Frog Prince that I sent her off to die."

"She’s not gonna die," Josh insisted. "And it's still not your fault that things went so horribly wrong last night. You can't take the blame for this . . ." and stopped as he thought about his own reactions to tragedies. All of a sudden he desperately wished that Donna were next to him. She'd know the right thing to say to make Charlie feel better. She always did.

"She was even wearing the earrings I'd given her for Christmas that first year we were together," Charlie murmured. "She wore them the night we buried the champagne. She was trying to tell me that she still cared, but I wouldn’t listen. They were dumb little hoop earrings, not even real gold." He looked up apologetically, the traces of tears clear on his cheeks. 

"They'll find her," Josh said soothingly. "She's gonna need you more than ever when they do, so you've got to get some rest. Why don't you lie down in Toby's office? He's at the hospital with the babies."

Charlie stood up reluctantly and a sheaf of paper slowly fell to the floor. Josh reached over to pick it up and recognized it as the ransom note that had been faxed to his office.

"Come on, I’ll walk you to Toby's office. I'm looking for Donna. Have you seen her?" Josh said as the two men started down the hall.

"I think she's in CJ's office," Charlie answered, reaching for the paper that had the last photo of Zoey. He tried to smooth out the wrinkles that been made by his falling tears. 

"I keep staring at this picture trying to tell myself that this isn't Zoey, that this isn't happening. She must be so scared. If they're hurting her, I'll - " the young assistant explained, staring at the blurry photo. He stopped in his tracks.

"Don't go there. Don't even think about that," Josh warned, trying to pull on Charlie's arm to get him to continue to Toby's office.

"They're not hoops," Charlie whispered.

"What?"

"The earrings," Charlie pointed at the photo. "They're not hoops. They're some kind of dangling things with stars on the ends. That's not what Zoey was wearing. They're not the hoops I gave her."

Josh grabbed the sheaf of paper from Charlie’s hands. "Maybe they switched earrings?" but even Josh didn’t think that made sense.

"The picture is so blurry and it kind of looks like Zoey and what she was wearing, but the earrings - they're all wrong," Charlie insisted.

The two men stared at each other, then Josh said, "Come on. We've got to find Donna."

"Why Donna?" Charlie asked.

"I’ve got some apologies to make and some listening to do."


	3. Rebound 3

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

5:20 am, Sunday morning

Will Bailey flung his glasses down on his desk and rubbed his eyes with his fists, trying to ease the dull ache behind his orbs. He was more tired than he'd ever been in his life. More exhausted than after the election in November when he'd spearheaded a campaign for a dead man - and won. The incredible roller coaster ride since then had come to an abrupt, horrifying end six hours earlier when Zoey Bartlet had been kidnapped. And Will had never felt so alone. 

He was the odd man out. He was the one who had to remind everyone that there was no Vice President to hold the reins while they dealt with this nightmare. He was the guy who'd had to point out that Leo couldn't just take charge while the President waited for news. He was the man who had to tell the Speaker of the House that he had to resign Congress before he could become President. And he was the outsider who could see, from the moment he heard the news, that Josiah Bartlet had to step down from the Presidency so he could be a father. 

He'd tried to draft comments for CJ to read. Thank God Toby had walked in the door, took one look at the inane words he'd written, and tossed them aside with the comment "we're not asking for fruit baskets." So he became the resident lawyer and could only offer the advice no one wanted to hear, but everyone knew was the only reasonable course of action. And, as in most instances, the messenger was blamed for the message.

Will sighed and retrieved his glasses. He felt like the second "Darren" in the old "Bewitched" sitcom; he doubted that anyone in this Administration would ever really accept him as anything but a poor substitute for Sam Seaborn. Sitcoms - Elsie - She really wasn't that much older than Zoey. He really needed to talk to Elsie but she'd decided to go back to California for a job as the headwriter on a new sitcom. He was glad she was out of this mess; there were too many crazies here in D.C. But he wished he had someone to talk to. 

The shrill ring of the phone interrupted Will's personal pity party. He fumbled for the speakerphone button, too tired to hold a receiver to his ear.

"Will Bailey," he murmured.

"Will? You okay?" 

A soft, Southern drawl bathed his ears and he relaxed against the back of his chair, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Ainsley," he said simply.

"Is there anything I can do for you, sweetpea? I'm so sorry about - about everything," the Southern Republican who'd captured his heart whispered, her voice like liquid honey. 

"I'm okay - not really, I guess," he confessed, suddenly relieved to unburden himself. "I don't know how to make this better, Ainsley. I didn't really know Zoey Bartlet, but I feel like there's something I should be ..."

"You just keep doing what you're doing, Will Bailey. In my estimation, and even allowing for a slight personal bias, I think you've got the sharpest mind and the biggest heart of any man, let alone liberal Democrat, I've ever had the opportunity to spend time with. I'm completely confident that you'll find a way to help Zoey's family and friends during this dark time. Will, you're what my great-grandmother called stalwart. You are a stalwart gentleman of the first order." 

Just hearing her voice made him feel more confident. "Stalwart? I don't think anyone has ever thought of me that way, much less said that word and my name in the same sentence. I wish you were still here." Will picked up a poker chip, leftover from the staff game a few weeks earlier, and absentmindedly rolled it up and over his fingers. He felt like he’d been playing in a losing card game for hours and was down to his last chip.

"Actually, I may be there later this morning," Ainsley said quickly. She'd been appointed chief counsel for the House Judiciary Committee and had started work on the Hill just a week earlier. "President ... um Acting President Walken asked me to come over and work with Oliver Babish since, you know, I used to work there, but I'm a Republican. Of course I was a Republican before too and although there was some initial resistance to my presence, I finally worked my way out of the steam pipe distribution venue. I like to think it was because of my stellar work in addition to being politically expedient ... but I digress. Do you think that I, being a Republican now . . or still, would create more problems in this sensitive time? Because if I knew that my being back in the White House would cause anyone the slightest bit of discomfort, well I'd just tell ..."

"Of course not," Will interrupted. "I’ve been working with the White House counsel staff all night and I think they could use your insight and connections to the Republican leadership."

"How's Mrs. Bartlet and the President? Have there been any new leads?"

"I don't have code word clearance yet, so I don't know how the negotiations with the terrorists are going. I know this sounds terrible, but it's like most international negotiations, each side is jockeying to get the best deal. That's why President Bartlet had to step aside. As far as the terrorists are concerned - it's nothing personal, it's just business."

"I understand what you're saying, but I don't care if it's business as usual for the terrorists and the State Department, when it's your child, damn right it's personal," Ainsley said indignantly, ignoring her usual ladylike refusal to swear in mixed company. "Our children are our link to the future, our legacy. You can't harm someone's child and expect the parent to act rationally."

The sound of someone clearing their throat had Will glancing towards his open doorway. He smiled at the unexpected sight of the burly Irish cabdriver cum ex-CIA agent leaning against the doorframe, elegantly dressed in a black silk tuxedo, carrying a top-hat and a silver-handled walking stick.

"Ainsley, you won't believe me when I tell you who just walked in! Count Dracula, minus his cape and fangs."

"Sugar, if you're talking about blood-sucking Republicans again, I'm going have to revise my opinion of you."

"Actually, Goat Boy, I think I look more like Sean Connery dressed up like Cary Grant," growled Mac, walking over towards Will's desk and the speakerphone.

"I'll stick with my first impression," retorted Will, pushing his glasses up. "Ainsley, Mac Sullivan is here, complete with tails and top hat."

"Hey, Mac. How are you? And how's Whiskey?"

"I'm supposed to be in Atlantic City playing cards and having sex. Instead I'm here, with Goat Boy, looking for someone who knows what's going on. Whiskey, on the other hand, is having what Ms. Fiderer calls a 'spa weekend.' I'm hoping that besides the hot oil massages, sessions with the dog psychic, and the low-cal gourmet meals, they at least give her a bath and dip her for fleas."

"So you and Ms. Fiderer are courting?" 

Will raised his eyebrows in amusement at the man who could mention sex without a qualm, but blushed at the old-fashioned term for dating.

"I'm not sure what you call it yet," Mac gruffly exclaimed, leaning towards the speakerphone. "The first chance we've had to go out was this weekend. We had just sat down at a poker table and anted up when Margaret paged her. We cashed in our chips and hauled ass back here."

"Listen, I'd love to hear more about this, but I've got a call on the other line, so I'll have to say my goodbyes. Mac, take care. Give Whiskey a kiss for me. Will, I'll see you soon."

As Will was hanging up the phone, Mac got down to business. "Where's Josh? I want to see the incident report."

"I'm not sure. He came by hunting for Donna earlier," Will offered. "If you stop calling me Goat Boy, I'll help you find him."

Mac narrowed his eyes, glaring at the younger man.

Will swallowed hard. "Maybe I'll just help you anyway." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:35 am, Sunday morning

"Do you think she's alive?" Donna was the one to put voice to the question that was in both women's minds.

CJ didn't answer, just spun her chair around so she could look out her office window into the faint pre-dawn light.

"I mean ...don't you think that no matter who took her they'd keep her alive? She has to be worth more to the kidnappers alive than dead."

"Or maybe she's more of a liability alive," CJ whispered, her face still turned away from the younger woman. "If she saw their faces ..."

"Oh." Donna's face paled as the realization sank in that for Zoey to have been taken so quietly in the middle of a crowded public place, the kidnappers probably weren't wearing masks or hoods.

A rapid knock on CJ's office door startled them both.

"Come in," CJ loudly responded, spinning her chair back around and snatching a tissue from the box on her desk, carefully wiping away the traces of tears from her cheeks. "I bet you a week's salary it's Josh," she whispered to the woman sitting in the chair across from her desk.

Donna sank lower in the chair, wiping her own face with her fingers, hoping that she hadn't smeared mascara under her eyes in the process.

"Hey, there you are," Josh exclaimed, pointing towards the back of Donna's head. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"I've been here. I just wanted to try out my idea with someone else. I know it's crazy but..." She ducked her head, seemingly studying the condition of her manicure.

Josh looked to CJ for help but she wasn't giving him any. "Hear her out, Josh. I think we need to consider the possibility that Qumar wasn't involved in the kidnapping."

"Okay." He walked over behind Donna's chair and leaned down, placing a quick kiss on the top of her head. "I'm sorry for laughing before. Tell me what you think."

"She probably thinks that the ransom note was faked," Charlie said, his entry right after Josh having gone unnoticed by the women.

Donna glanced up at Josh and then leaned sideways to look behind him at the young Presidential Aide. "Actually I just don't think the Qumaris had anything to gain from taking her. What do you mean faked? Signed by someone only pretending to represent Qumar?"

Charlie shook his head from side to side. "No, I think the photo is ..." 

"What's wrong with the photo?" 

Everyone looked at the doorway again. 

Danny grinned at their expressions. "Don't worry. I'm off the record this morning."

CJ gave him a wry smile. "You better be."

"Don't believe a word out of his mouth," Mac chuckled as he and Will crowded their way into CJ's packed office.

"What is this? Grand Central Station?" CJ exclaimed. "Quick someone shut the door while there's still some air left in here."

"Now there's a man who knows how to dress." Donna stood up and gave Mac a hug. "Josh, take notes."

"I don't look good in hats," Josh replied, eyeing the top hat in the older man's hand. "My hair's my best feature and I don't want to cover it up."

Everyone looked at the Deputy Chief of Staff and laughed. 

He reddened. "Hey. My Mom loves my hair."

Donna moved from Mac's embrace and wrapped an arm around Josh's waist, giving him a squeeze. Whispering so that only he could hear, she said, "Your best feature isn't something a mother would know about."

Josh's face reddened to the color of Danny's hair, but that didn't keep him from grinning.

"CJ, don't you want to say something about how good I look?" Danny joked, making his way through the bodies that stood between him and the woman still seated behind the desk.

"Well, Fishboy, you could take some notes from Mac too. I love a man in a tux." CJ smiled as Danny rounded the desk, leaned down, and gave her a quick kiss in front of everyone.

"Can we talk about the ransom note, please," Charlie pleaded. "In the photo Zoey didn't have on the right earrings."

"How do you know that?" CJ asked, turning her attention from the reporter who was leaning in for a second kiss. "I didn't have any description of earrings in my press announcement. I mentioned a pendant." 

"Josh and I saw her before she went to the club. She was wearing some little gold hoops with diamonds, well diamond chips, that I'd given her."

"Maybe she changed her earrings," Donna suggested. "Sometimes I change earrings for the evening. I don't ..."

"No. She went right from the Arboretum to the club. Josh and I followed her limo. She didn't even have a purse with her."

Donna shook her head. "Of course she had a purse. No woman leaves her house without a purse. It must have just been in the limo."

"Listen to me," Charlie insisted, his voice belying his frustration as he waved a copy of the faxed note in the air. "This isn't a photo of her at the club. I think the photo has been doctored to look like it's a recent photo. CJ announced what Zoey was wearing on CNN, so everyone in the world knew about the double tank top and the silk jacket. CJ didn't say anything about the earrings, so whoever sent the fax didn't know about the earrings. They got that part wrong because they don't have Zoey!" 

The telephone rang and CJ picked it up, holding up a hand to shush the noisy room so she could hear."Yeah, Leo. Okay. No, I'll tell them." She glanced up at the room's occupants in amusement as she spoke into the receiver. "I think I know where to find them." 

"What is it?" Josh asked when CJ ended the call. "What did Leo want?"

"He said for everyone to go home now. And he wanted everyone to know that the Acting President has ordered the Senior Staff in for a meeting tomorrow at 3 pm after the leadership session. Leo also mentioned that in ten minutes he was sending an agent around to make sure our offices were empty."

"I'm not going home," Charlie angrily shouted. "Not until we find Zoey."

"Charlie," Mac's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Maybe you should get out of here for awhile, clear your mind. Do you want ..."

"So this is where everyone is," Debbie exclaimed, squeezing into the room, the swinging fringe on her red dress competing with the purple boa for everyone's attention. 

"Hey, Donna," Josh said, grinning. "Now there's a woman who knows how to dress."

Donna elbowed him in the ribs in response.

"Ms. Fiderer? Have you seen the Bartlets?" Will asked breaking his silence.

Debbie nodded, making the feather in her jeweled headband wave. "Their priest just arrived. Father ... uh."

"Cavanaugh," Charlie supplied. "Father Thomas Cavanaugh."

CJ got a pensive look on her face but before she could respond, Josh began clearing the room.

"Let's go folks. We're only going to get about four hours sleep as it is. We can't do anything else here tonight. Everyone meet at my place at 11 am and we'll figure out if Charlie and Donna are on to something." Josh tugged Donna towards the door, slowing only when Mac tapped him on the shoulder. 

"I want to see the incident report," the older man demanded. "Can you make that happen or do I need to bother Butterfield?"

"Follow me to my office," Josh whispered, trying to keep the reporter on the other side of the room from hearing.

Mac nodded and turned looking for Debbie. "Are you ready to go? Charlie is coming with us."

Debbie smiled at the surprised look on the young man's face. "Good idea. Yes, I'm more than ready to go home. This outfit has lost its magic." She pulled at a strand of fringe that had somehow become entangled around Will's cuff link.

Will tried to help, but ended up with both cuffs attached to the woman's dress and the feather boa wrapped around his neck instead of Debbie's. He glanced up and caught Mac's glare. "Uh, sorry."

Debbie just laughed and glanced over at CJ. "At least it's not glue. Got any scissors?"


	4. Rebound 4

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

6:20 am, Sunday morning

Josh wondered briefly if he should have offered to take Donna to her apartment. When Leo gave the order for the staff to go home and sleep for a few hours, Josh just assumed that Donna would want to be with him. He knew he'd never sleep unless she was curled up beside him, his arms holding her tight. 

The reason wasn't sex either. Not that sex with Donna wasn't ... Well, the sex was amazing, exciting beyond anything he'd ever experienced. So maybe it was the sex, he mused, reliving for a moment the last time they'd been in his bed. But, no - it was the sex plus something else. Sex plus some indefinable thing that made him think of warmth and safety and home. Something extra that let him sleep.

He was embarrassed to tell her that in the months since they'd been together, he could only sleep when she was in the bed with him. Josh chuckled at the thought. He was making Donna sound like a favorite teddy bear - not the most romantic way to describe his feelings for her. But dammit, he missed her when she wasn't there, her cold feet against his shins, her just-washed hair damp against his pillow.

On the nights she insisted that she needed to do "girl stuff" and went back to her own apartment, he'd spend most of the night channel-surfing through infomercials until exhausted, he’d finally fall asleep on the couch. His grumpiness the next day was inevitable, relieved only when she climbed into 'her' side of the bed. 

Maybe this is just what being in love means, he concluded, holding open the apartment door for the object of his thoughts. No one ever told him how dependant it would make him.

Donna walked in, toeing off her heels immediately, and releasing the clip that was holding her hair up off her shoulders. She ran her fingers through the blonde locks while Josh watched mesmerized by this common occurrence. He dropped his backpack next to the door, shrugged off his suit jacket, and tossed it over the back of a chair.

"You hungry?" Donna walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door to check out the contents.

"Sure, you want me to order something?" Josh loosened his tie and threw it over his suit jacket.

"Not for me. I could make some soup and sandwiches. Would you settle for peanut butter and jelly on raisin bread? I was going to go shopping tomorrow, um - today - Or should I make some eggs? I guess it's breakfast, but my inner time clock is as screwed up as your watch."

"Eggs would be good," he said, leaning against the kitchen doorway watching her fuss around the kitchen, reaching for a frying pan under the counter. He could feel himself start to relax at the warm domesticity of it all, but then felt guilty when he thought about the Bartlets - and Zoey.

"I'm not sure I’m cut out to be a parent," he whispered suddenly. "Too many things can go wrong."

Donna paused, then cracked the egg she was holding against the rim of the mixing bowl, and threw the shell into the garbage. She pivoted and crossed the room, gently putting her arms around Josh. He held onto her as if his life depended on it.

"Having kids is always a leap of faith, Josh, but if you asked the Bartlets if they would rather never have had Zoey if they knew the heartache they would be facing today - " Donna said softly, pulling him closer. She then added, "or if you asked your mother if she wished she hadn't had Joanie knowing what happened, what do you think her answer would be?"

Josh stepped back and cradled her face in his hands, then gently kissed her lips. "I love you so much," he murmured. "When I heard about Zoey, I was so afraid that something would happen to you. I don't think I could -"

"Shhh. Nothing is going to happen to me. We're going to find Zoey and she's going to be safe." She caressed his cheek, then kissed his lips softly. "Go take a shower and breakfast will be ready when you get out."

By the time Josh emerged from the bathroom, damp and refreshed, with a towel slung low on his waist, the smells from the kitchen sparked his hunger. He joined Donna at the kitchen table and eagerly polished off scrambled eggs, toast, home fries, and juice. His grin prompted her to ask, "what’s so funny?"

"I haven’t eaten this many home-cooked meals since high school. There's real food in the house. I mean I can be hungry and eat something without leaving the apartment," he said in wonderment.

"Don't get used to it," Donna warned.

"Oh, but I already am," Josh answered quickly with a laugh.

"Remember the rules," Donna admonished.

"I know. Whoever cooks, the other cleans up, but I think I'm getting dishpan hands," Josh groused.

"Have you tried rubber gloves?" she grinned. 

Josh swatted Donna's butt as she rose from the table to take her plate to the sink.

"Go take your shower while I finish up. We need to grab a couple of hours of sleep before everyone comes over. I don't know when we'll sleep again."

Donna headed off to the bathroom while Josh loaded the dishwasher, chuckling to himself that it was pretty hard to get dishpan hands if your fingers never actually touched water. He started to make coffee for CJ and the rest of the Hardy Boys, but decided to wait until everyone arrived. 

He headed for his bedroom just as Donna was emerging from the bathroom, one towel wrapped turban style around her head, the other just barely covering her torso. All of a sudden sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.

"Did you get the dishes done?" Donna asked, studiously ignoring the look in his eyes, as she started turning down the sheets.

"Uh, huh," Josh responded, watching the bottom on the towel rise as Donna leaned over the bed.

"Good, maybe you want to ..." The rest of her words were muffled as a heavy weight pushed her flat on her face on the mattress. "What are you doing?"

"Showing you my moves." Josh laughed, tugging on her towels. "Did I ever tell you about my football days?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

6:20 am, Sunday morning

Will slowly trudged around The Old Executive Office Building, cut down 18th Street, and walked two more blocks to his apartment building. It was basically a cookie-cutter, sterile square edifice, with zero architectural charm. But on the plus side, he could be in the office in six minutes. He'd timed it. 

Once inside his studio apartment, he flopped down on the sofa he'd bought from the previous tenant and flipped on the news. Old home movies of toddler Zoey were being rerun on CNN and MSNBC; but Fox was featuring a group of talking heads debating the big changes that President Walken would be making. He started to doze off just as Brit Hume posed,"who's really in charge of the West Wing right now?"

"Good question," Will murmured.

The shrill ringing of the telephone startled him back to consciousness and he muted the television. 

"Will Bailey," he snapped, frustrated that he was undoubtedly being called back to the office before he'd even caught 20 of his intended 40 winks.

"Will, honey, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" The sultry, Southern tones soothed his jangled nerves. 

"No, no," he lied convincingly, and sat up and ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm downstairs in the lobby. I was going to leave a little something for you to eat, but the kind gentleman who opened the door for me told me that you'd just come home so I wondered if I might come up and deliver my wares personally."

"Of course. Come on up," Will said breathlessly and hung up the phone. He jumped to his feet and grabbed old boxers and t-shirts that littered the floor, wildly looking around for a hiding place and deciding on the oven of the galley kitchen that lined the wall behind the sofa. He thought for a second and stashed the dirty dishes that filled the sink into the oven as well. 

The tentative rap on the door halted his environmental cleanup, and he leaped over the couch and ran to welcome his personal heroine. She stood there, wicker basket in one hand, a slim leather briefcase resting on her shoulder. Domestic goddess and warrior princess in one diminutive blonde package.

He hesitated for a moment then impulsively grabbed her close for a hug, the wicker basket and briefcase thudding against his back when Ainsley returned the gesture and closed her arms around him. "I'm so happy to see you," he whispered in her delicate ear.

Finally, he stepped back, reluctant to be separated for even a moment, and she stepped into his apartment, her first visit. The times they’d spent together, which had unfortunately been far too few moments due to the hectic schedules they both maintained, had been at her place, a haven of Southern gentility, full of soft floral cushions and sweet-smelling fresh flowers. He glanced around the room and grimaced at the sight of the stained sofa he was about to suggest she sit upon. But ignoring the motel-like atmosphere of the room, Ainsley perched upon the sofa, placed the wicker basket upon the formica-clad coffee table, and patted the spot next to her.

"I've always found Southern Pecan Rolls to be just the pick-me-up I needed when life was going to hell in a handbasket," and she blushed slightly at her own frankness. "I confess I didn't make these, but my sweet Grandmama did and sent them to me just yesterday. She must have known that we'd need them, don't you think."

Will sat there, once again amazed that this Southern sprite was interested in him. Ainsley carefully spread a delicate white linen napkin on the coffee table, on which she placed a blue-and-white china plate, and then added two sweet rolls. It didn't surprise him one whit that she was descended from a Grandmama with the intuition to recognize a world in chaos and who would then begin to bake comfort food. From the wicker basket, Ainsley withdrew a thermos and a crystal goblet. 

"This is fresh-squeezed orange juice. I didn't think you needed any more caffeine, just yet, but I filled another thermos with dark-roasted coffee, from beans my aunt in New Orleans sends me once a month. You'll need it later today, I expect."

Will moved as if in a trance and sipped the juice and nibbled the sweet roll. It all tasted so good and fresh that, to his surprise, he finished it off in moments and reached for the second roll. He was rewarded with a grin that warmed his heart. When he'd polished off all the goodies, he leaned back against the seat cushions and pulled Ainsley to his chest.

"Thank you so much," he whispered. "I feel so much better," and both knew that he wasn't just talking about the food.

Ainsley snuggled against him. "Anything I can do to help you?"

"Just being here helps. I don't think I'll be able to sleep, there's so much going on and my mind is whirling. And now, Charlie and Donna, maybe even CJ, have this crazy idea - "

She looked up curiously. "What idea?"

"Charlie doesn't think the ransom note is real, and Donna just thinks something's fishy about the whole incident. For God's sake, the CIA, FBI, Secret Service, and all the world intelligence agencies are on the case, but they insist - Of course, maybe it's just because we're all tired and fishing for answers," he posed.

"Why doesn't Charlie think the ransom note is real?" Ainsley pushed, sitting up. Will immediately regretted the loss of her body against his, but reached for his briefcase at the end of the sofa, and pulled out a copy of the faxed ransom demand. He pointed to the grainy photo and Zoey's earrings.

"Charlie claims these aren't the earrings Zoey was wearing when she went into the club. He thinks it's a doctored photo, maybe someone posing as Zoey and since the picture is so grainy, it's hard to tell."

Ainsley took the note from his hand, stared at the photo, then scanned the note at the bottom of the page.

"It's in Arabic," Will explained. "The translation is on the back."

Ainsley didn't bother to turn the paper over, but continued to stare at the Arabic letters, frown lines beginning to appear in the space between her eyes.

"Who do they think sent this note?" she asked.

"A terrorist cell based in Qumar. A mufti used much of the same language last week, and the analysts believe this group is based in - "

"Probably DC," Ainsley finished and looked up to find Will Bailey resembling a fish, his mouth opening and closing with no words coming out.

When he finally found his voice, he squeaked, "What makes you think that?"

"The language of the note." 

Ainsley explained so matter-of-factly that Will almost felt foolish for asking, "What do you mean?"

"The language is very stilted, written by someone who speaks Arabic, but doesn't write it."

"Huh?"

"I had a friend at Smith whose family emigrated here from Saudi Arabia when she was eight," Ainsley continued. "Her grandmother spoke Arabic to her, so she speaks fluently, but she never learned to read or write the language. I mean she can a little, but it's stilted, doesn't flow, the grammar is off - just like in this note."

"You read Arabic?"

She nodded shyly.

"The picture does look like Zoey," he said slowly, "but then again the description has been broadcast for hours."

She nodded again, and he pulled her back against him.

"What happens next?" she asked. "I'm fairly certain I'm right about this, but surely some experts have considered - "

"Maybe not. Everyone was probably so relieved to hear from the kidnappers that no one double-checked - " he finished, lightly rubbing his hand up and down her arm, lost in thought. "I'm supposed to meet everyone at Josh's apartment before we go to the meeting with Wal - er, President Walken. Do you want to come with me and explain what you discovered?"

"I can't," Ainsley said regretfully. "I've got to meet with Oliver in an hour. You'll do just fine."

He gazed into her sea-blue eyes, and couldn't resist. He leaned down and captured her lips with his. She put her hand behind his neck, pulling him closer, and deepened the kiss. 

Who needed sleep anyway, he thought, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms tightly around her.

His next thought was one of confusion as he rolled over on the couch and found himself alone. He'd fallen asleep. Damn.

Will walked through the empty apartment. With only three rooms, it didn't take long. She was gone. 

Lying back down on the sofa, Will shut his eyes and drifted off again. Maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe she had never been there at all.

A rogue hamster scurried across the coffee table, searching out the sweet roll crumb he'd been eating when his human woke up. He had to be careful - the schmuck didn't know he could open and close the cage door.


	5. Rebound 5

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

6:20 am, Sunday morning

"How can you eat that at this hour of the morning?" CJ asked, unzipping her suit skirt and grabbing her robe out of the closet. "And you know I hate it when you eat in my bed." 

She glared over at the red-haired imp sitting cross-legged on her damask comforter wearing only his boxers and dirty socks. He was watching CNN on the bedroom television and balancing a large mixing bowl on one bare thigh and the remote on the other.

Danny swallowed the large spoonful of Rocky Road ice cream and grinned. "Ice cream is an all day food. Besides, you didn't have much to choose from in your refrigerator. I'm not a salad person and I recognized that carton of Chinese food in there from a month ago."

She sighed and sat down on the mattress beside him, working open the buttons on her silk blouse. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to go shopping and I'm sorry I didn't give you time to explain yourself earlier."

"Okay," he calmly responded holding out a heaped spoon to her. "Want some?"

CJ shook her head. "I need a shower and some sleep. Food can wait." She gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and moved the spoon over the bowl, hoping to prevent a mess on her expensive bed covering.

Danny stuck the spoon in his mouth before the ice cream dripped, watching her as she slowly got to her feet and finished undressing. She tossed the skirt and blouse into a hamper. He swallowed hard as she slid off her panties and unhooked her bra, the matching ivory lingerie landing in the hamper on top of the office clothes. "I could use a shower too!"

"I thought you might." She padded naked into the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, "Put your bowl in the kitchen sink, not on the nightstand."

A guilty Danny stopped the motion of his arm in mid-air and sighed, thinking not for the first time that the woman had eyes in the back of her head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6:20 am - Sunday morning

"This is a nice place," Charlie remarked as Debbie let them into her large brick house. 

"Thank you. I like it, especially since my first husband had to pay for it. But you've seen it before," she added, turning on a lamp and walking over to open the drapes in the large living room, letting in the dawn light.

"You really didn't let me stay long enough to see it," Charlie responded, almost smiling at the memory. "I felt like a magazine salesman instead of somebody offering you a great job."

Debbie frowned. "I wasn't ready to hop on that horse again. I had a lot of bad memories of my last tour of government duty."

With a thump on the hardwood floor, Mac dropped the two suitcases he'd brought in from the cab. "Where should I put our luggage?"

"You can put mine in the first bedroom down that hall." She pointed to the right. "You can put yours in the guest room, the second door down. Charlie, you can use my son's old room. Last door at the end of the hall."

Both men stared at her. 

"Son?" Mac croaked. "You never mentioned a son?"

"I didn't know either," Charlie added, wide-eyed. 

"Of course you did," Debbie grumbled, tossing her purple boa onto the shiny top of the piano dominating the room and slipping off her shoes. "It was in my application and I'm sure it was in the pile of security forms I filled out."

"No, it wasn't." Charlie countered. "I would have noticed. How did you keep his existence off your FBI background check?"

"Debbie?" Mac crossed his arms and glared at her. "Are you hiding him?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake. So I didn't mention him. He has his life and I have mine. And, frankly, the FBI is not that good at doing in-depth background checks." She picked up her shoes and grabbed the boa. "I'm going to bed. You two can make yourself at home. Kitchen is that way." She gestured towards the left.

Mac hefted the two cases again and followed after her. "What else don't I know about you?"

Debbie smiled over her shoulder at him and continued down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6:50 am, Sunday morning

Danny pulled her closer to him. He knew they should really be trying to sleep but they both needed something more than sleep; they needed to feel something more than fear.

CJ pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and then gripped his shoulders, trying to maintain her balance. "We need more practice at this," she whispered in his ear. "We're going to have bruises if we're lucky, broken bones if we're not."

Danny's mouth found hers for a brief kiss before responding. Eyes twinkling as the water poured down over their joined bodies, he answered, "I've always been lucky."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6:50 am, Sunday morning

"Scrambled, okay?" Mac broke a half-dozen eggs in a bowl and started whipping them without waiting for Charlie's answer.

"Sure." Charlie leaned against the tiled kitchen counter and watched the older man. "I'm sorry if my being here is ... uh, ruining your plans."

Mac looked up. "Plans are made to be changed. I learned that a long time ago." He started whipping the yellow mixture again. "Besides, Debbie and I are taking this thing slowly. Neither one of us want to make another mistake at this time of our lives."

"I made a mistake with Zoey," Charlie mumbled, handing Mac the salt and pepper. "She wanted to stay in the park with me, but I sent her on to the nightclub, to Jean-Paul."

Mac poured the eggs in a skillet. "Looking backwards won't help her. You need to concentrate on the here and now." 

Charlie nodded, watching the eggs begin to bubble. "Tell me what I should do next. How do I help Zoey?"

Mac pointed a spatula towards the refrigerator. "Find some bacon in there and nuke it. We'll go over the incident report while we eat breakfast and you can tell me about those earrings that have you convinced the ransom note was a fake."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7:20 am, Sunday morning

"Told you," Danny chuckled, spooning up behind her on the bed. "Am I good or am I good?"

"You're lucky," CJ laughed, placing his roaming hand on her waist. "Now let me sleep."

"Don't you want to hear what the Qumaris told me?" Danny snuggled in closer still. "They don't have Zoey."

"I believe you," she mumbled, already half-asleep. "Tell me later when I can think."

"Okay." Danny kissed the top of her bare shoulder and laid his head down behind hers. "It can wait a couple of hours."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7:20 am, Sunday morning

"Is Charlie asleep?" Debbie asked from the bedroom doorway, startling the man coming out of the adjoining bathroom's shower, bare except for a towel wrapped around his waist.

"I didn't tuck him in, but yeah - I think so." Mac resisted the urge to suck in his stomach. Too many beers and too many hours driving a cab had given him the beginnings of a little paunch.

"Good." Debbie fingered the knot holding her robe closed. "I'm sorry our trip to Atlantic City didn't go the way we planned."

"Like I told Charlie, plans get changed." Mac walked over to her and placed his hands over hers, over the knot on her robe sash. "Are we going to . . ."

Debbie gave him a small smile. "Not now. Not like this. I want ..."

"Okay, darling." Mac leaned in and gave her a hard kiss. "You be sure and let me know when the time's right."

Debbie raised her hand and stroked the side of his craggy face. "I'll do that."


	6. Rebound 6

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

10:45 am, Sunday morning

"Josh, come on, we've got to get up. They'll be here in 15 minutes." Donna struggled to escape the firm hold her boyfriend had around her waist. 

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, still asleep. He pulled her closer, his naked, warm body spooned up against hers. 

"Not even one more minute," Donna insisted, slipping from his grasp. She sat on the edge of the bed working up the energy to get dressed. Leo had sent them all home to get four hours of desperately needed sleep. Instead, they'd just woken up from a 20-minute post-coital nap. She wondered if Leo had a clue what she and Josh - yeah, he did. 

"Why are they coming over here?" Josh muttered, reluctantly sitting up in bed, the navy blue sheets pooled around his waist. His curly hair stood straight up and his brown eyes were still full of sleep, but he stared intently at her naked breasts.

"Because something about this kidnapping doesn't make sense and we're going to figure it out," Donna patiently explained, pulling open the top drawer of Josh’s bureau and extracting a blue satin demi-bra with matching bikinis. She pulled them on, his eyes never leaving her body.

"How come you never wear thong bikinis? You've got a great ..." He grinned.

"Because they're a male fantasy and a woman's nightmare," she interrupted.

"I like it best when you go commando."

"Not at work." She smiled. "And I don't have any clean clothes to wear. I'm going to have go home before ..."

"Your underwear's clean. Wear the outfit you had on," Josh suggested. "No one's going to notice."

"Everyone will notice," Donna sighed. "They'll know I didn't go home." She began pulling on her black pants, then smiled and reached for a blue sweater hanging in the back of the closet.

"They already know you didn’t go home," Josh climbed out of bed. "CJ, Danny, Debbie, Charlie, Will, they all know we’re together. Who cares?"

"Amy doesn’t know," Donna said flatly. "She asked me last night if I was in love with you."

"She did what?" Josh said indignantly. "Jesus, will that woman never die? What did you answer?" Josh pulled on his boxers and faced Donna.

"Larry ran in, yelling what he'd just heard on the radio and I didn't have to give her an answer," Donna said softly.

"What would you have said if Larry hadn't come in?" Josh whispered.

"I don't know."

"It's not such a hard question. Why not just tell her the truth?" Josh insisted. "You do, don't you? Love me?"

She smiled. "Yes, of course. But I thought we were trying to be discreet. I thought I'd been able to keep things hidden at the office, but she'd been pushing me all day about why you were angry about her remarks about the new vice president and I finally told her that she didn’t get you. I didn't add that was literally and figuratively." She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Just because it's in the past for you doesn't mean it is for her."

Josh nodded and then got a faraway look in his eyes.

"What?" Donna asked.

"What you just said," he mumbled. "About it being in the past for me but not for her."

"Right. You've moved on, but Amy hasn't."

"Exactly. What did you say about this kidnapping and Qumar?" Josh asked thoughtfully.

"I said it didn't make sense for the Qumaris to ..." Donna trailed off, starting to put together the pieces. "If it's not international terrorists, then maybe it's someone from the past who has Zoey," she whispered.

"I should have figured this out sooner," Josh muttered.

"Your brain wasn't getting enough blood." Donna laughed, as she heard the buzzer. "Get dressed. They're here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:00 am, Sunday morning

Donna held open the door, listening to the grumbling of her co-workers as they trudged up the steps to Josh’s third floor apartment. "Make yourself at home. I'm going to start some coffee," she yelled down.

CJ walked in first and dropped her briefcase by the door. "Josh? Donna? You've got to listen to what Danny's heard," she began immediately.

Josh emerged from the bedroom, dress blue shirt open and undone over his undershirt, clad in the slacks from his grey suit. "What did you hear?"

He turned to Danny whose bushy red hair was damp from a recent shower, and noted that CJ's hair was also slightly wet. "You look rested." He grinned at the reporter.

"You don't look too tired yourself." Danny smiled. "Should we wait until the rest of the group gets here? I thought I saw Mac's cab at the end of the block about to grab a parking space and Will may be with them."

Just then the buzzer sounded again. Josh released the outer door lock. 

As Charlie, Mac, Debbie, and Will entered the apartment, Donna came out with a tray of mugs and a carafe of hot coffee. Once everyone got some liquid fortification, they settled into chairs. Charlie still wore the same clothes he’d been in for more than 24 hours, but Mac and Debbie had doffed their evening wear.

"Okay," Josh began, looking at Danny. "Tell us the scuttlebutt. But, everybody be brief. We've all got work to do for Walken this afternoon in addition to anything we're able to do in regards to the kidnapping."

"I've checked my usual sources at the Qumar embassy, then called in a couple of markers I hold at the State Department, and the bottom line is that Zoey was not abducted by Qumari terrorists. I honestly don’t think they're stringing me along. The Qumaris say they were looking forward to my breaking the Shareef story because it would make the U.S. look bad - and this kidnapping of a young girl absolutely paints them as villains in world opinion. They know there is a difference between assassinating a terrorist and taking out an innocent victim."

"Okay," Josh said thoughtfully, "but then who wrote the ransom note?"

"Not anyone who's fluent in written Arabic," Will spoke up hesitantly.

"How do you know that?" Debbie demanded.

"I don't ... but Ainsley does," Will said a little more forcefully. "She couldn't be here. She's working with Babish, at Walk..er the Acting President's request."

Danny leaned in and whispered to Josh, "He looks rested too," nodding his head at the damp hair of the young speechwriter.

"Ainsley's fluent in Arabic and probably a half dozen other languages," Will said, gathering steam, "and she's convinced that whoever wrote that note isn't speaking and writing the language on a daily basis. She doesn't think it's from terrorists," he paused, then added defiantly, "and neither do I."

"Me either. And that's not Zoey in the fax photo," Charlie declared, looking around the room for anyone to challenge him.

"I think we're all convinced that whoever wrote the note doesn't have Zoey, but then who does?" Josh said seriously. 

The group fell silent. Finally Mac looked up from the incident report he'd been studying ever since he'd arrived and said thoughtfully, "I've gone over this stuff for hours and one thing is clear. This wasn't an abduction of opportunity."

"What's that mean?" CJ asked.

"I mean whoever took Zoey had planned this down to the detail," Mac answered slowly.

"But I thought Nancy McNally said she thought it was low-tech, amateur, dependent on coincidence. If it's professionals, then maybe it is terrorists," Debbie argued.

"Nope. I think Ms. Southern Belle was right," Mac answered.

"She was?" Will interjected, his voice slightly higher than normal. "I mean, of course, she is, but why do you think that?"

"I don't know diddly squat about the language of the ransom note, but I heard Ms. Fried Chicken say that when you take somebody's kid, it's damn personal. I think this isn't international, but somebody right here in the United States of America who's mighty pissed."

"At the President?" Donna asked.

"Maybe, but it could be at Mrs. Bartlet, or Charlie, or maybe one of you. This nicely derailed everything you've been working for over the last five years," Mac pointed out.

"That's what Donna and I think too," Josh offered. 

At the confused glances of his friends, Josh continued, "We were talking earlier and I realized that even if one person thinks a bad situation is resolved, the other person might still be holding a grudge."

"He finally bought a clue," CJ whispered to Donna, who answered with a grin.

"So what I want to know is," Mac stood up, leaned on the back of Debbie's chair, and said somberly, "who is so angry that they'd be willing to risk World War III to get revenge? Because they had to know, and not care, that the first thing anyone would think is that this was an attack by a foreign group against the U.S."


	7. Rebound 7

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

Noon, Sunday morning

"The question isn't who is angry with us," CJ laughed bitterly, "it's probably, who's not. We haven't been making many friends over the last five years."

"That's the nature of the White House," Josh offered. "I don't know any President who tried to effect change that didn't make enemies."

"I don't think this is politics," Mac interrupted. "It's not about some Congressman who you beat on a vote. This isn’t business, it's personal. Who have you pissed off that much that they'd be willing to hurt a young girl?"

"Nobody hates us that much, do they?" Donna asked.

"Sure they do," Josh said angrily.

"Who?" Donna looked surprised.

"The idiots in a pickup truck who shot me, The West Virginia White Pride. I bet some of their finer leaders are still around." 

Donna grabbed Josh's hand, then added, "But you weren’t even the target," and they all faced Charlie. "And in Los Angeles a couple of months ago, that stupid couple made the comment about Charlie being the one who dated the daughter."

The young aide wearily wiped a hand over his face and whispered sadly, "Was she taken because she used to date me? Didn't they hear? She dumped me."

Debbie pulled Charlie in for a hug.

"OK, so the White Pride group - someone needs to figure out where the leaders have been in the last 48 hours." Mac looked around the room. 

"I'll call my contacts at the FBI, but also the Anti-Defamation League. They track hate groups," Danny offered.

"Don't forget the Lambs of God," Josh suggested. "They sent that doll to Annie years ago. They hate President Bartlet, and probably hate Abbey even more since she's actively pro-choice."

Danny nodded.

"This may sound dumb ..." Donna began.

"Who?" Mac demanded.

"But Sam told me about a scary conversation he had with Tom and Sarah Jordan."

"Who are they?" Debbie asked.

"A guy Sam went to law school with. At first we were going to back him for a Congressional opening, then we pulled our support because he'd belonged to a white fraternity and had used preemptory challenges to eliminate blacks from juries. It wasn't personal, but we were worried that it would hurt us in the Midterms, so we had no choice," Josh explained apologetically.

"I only bring it up because Sam was so rattled after he met with them, " Donna continued. "Sarah was pregnant and felt like we'd ruined Tom's future. She even said, 'anytime in the future we have an opportunity to screw you, count on getting screwed'."

"I want to know where they are and what they’ve been doing in the past three years," Mac ordered. "Vengeful mothers are the worst kind of enemies."

"I’ll follow up," Donna said quietly.

"How about Dr. Bartlet?" Will asked.

Mac looked expectantly at the speechwriter.

Will continued, "She had a high-risk practice. Do you think any of her patients or their families could have been angry enough to do this?" 

"She was sued 7 times," CJ said thoughtfully. "I remember because Babish quizzed her on them before the hearings. The wife of one, an Arlene Neider . . . Neider-something, was damn mad because the case was dismissed before it went to trial so maybe ... ?" 

"I'll check into it," Will volunteered. "Any other high-profile or even low-profile lawsuits against the administration?"

"It wasn't a lawsuit exactly," CJ said slowly.

"What?" Mac demanded.

"Simon Cruz," CJ said flatly. "A couple of years ago a drug dealer was about to be executed and President Bartlet refused to stop the execution. He had a mother - Sophia Cruz - I didn't want to know her name. It would have been easier if I hadn't known her name," CJ sighed, and Danny grabbed her hand.

"But Sophia would be in her mid-sixties now, so I don’t think she’s capable of revenge at this point," CJ added.

"I'll look into it anyway," Will said, making notes.

"How about Elliot Roush?" CJ asked.

"They do have a long-standing feud," Charlie agreed.

Mac looked expectantly at the group, and Charlie explained, "This is a guy who President Bartlet can't stand. The President ran against him for Congress and Roush took it hard when he lost. The President even tried to make sure Roush lost when he ran for the Manchester school board. The two men can't stand each other, but I don't see Roush as a kidnapper."

"Let's not eliminate anyone too fast," Mac cautioned.

"Ok, I'll find out what Roush has been doing," Charlie offered.

"That's a good start. I've got some questions about the actual incident. I’m gonna talk to some guys at the Agency. Some stuff doesn’t add up. Molly was shot with a single bullet in the middle of the forehead. That's a professional kill. And why was Zoey's panic button left behind? And why haven't we heard from the kidnapper? What is he or she waiting for?"

"So don't those issues just confuse things? I mean it's personal but professional?" Donna asked.

"Yep," Mac agreed grimly. "And that makes it far more dangerous. Somebody with a real bad hurt knows enough - or can pay enough - to make sure that the Bartlets hurt too." He glanced down at his watch. "Can we meet again around 9?

The group nodded.

"OK, in the meantime, we've got a meeting with the Acting President in 20 minutes," Josh said somberly, standing up and holding out a hand to Donna. "We'll do what we have to do, and then concentrate on finding Zoey's kidnapper. Then the real President can come back." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1:55 pm, Sunday afternoon

"Are you just going to stay up here all day long, doing nothing?" Abbey asked, walking into the sitting room and glaring at her husband.

Jed looked up from the newspaper he was pretending to read. "I don't have an office to go to. It's better that I don't wander the halls - people can't do what they need to if I'm hovering. Ron and Leo will come here, if they need me."

Abbey moved over to look out the residence windows. "It just seems like we should be out there, looking for her. I can't stand much more of this waiting, Jed. I just can't."

Jed pulled off his reading glasses and set them aside on the end table next to his overstuffed chair.

Folding the newspaper, he calmly asked, "Where are Liz and Ellie? I haven't seen them today."

Abbey leaned her forehead against the glass. It was no use pushing her husband. He'd only talk about Zoey when he was ready. "They're still asleep. No one got to bed before 7:00 or so this morning."

Before Jed could comment, a knock sounded at the outer door and Amy Gardner stuck her head inside. "Good afternoon, Mr. President, Mrs. Bartlet. Can I show you the mail from yesterday, Ma'am?"

Irritated, Abbey turned and faced her Chief of Staff. "Amy, I really don't think this is the time for ..."

Jed got to his feet, interrupting his wife. "Bring it in, Amy. Abbey needs something to take her mind off things." He pointed towards the coffee table.

Amy stalked into the room before Abbey could argue. "I just brought up the most critical pieces. Oh, and a few cards and gifts that have come in for you." She set a cardboard file box on the coffee table, glancing sideways at Abbey who was still standing by the window. "If you'll just ..."

"Leave it," Abbey said, her tone indicating that she'd brook no interference. "There's nothing in that box that is more important than my missing daughter. In fact, I think it's time that you ..."

"What's this?" Jed asked, peering into the carton and lifting out a carved rosewood jewelry box.

Intrigued, Abbey walked over next to her husband to look at the object in his hand.

Amy pasted a smile on her face, hoping the gift was going to keep her job for another day.

Nothing seemed to be going right in her life - especially not working for the First Lady. She could do better. Hell, she'd done better, and then Josh had gotten her fired. She just needed a little more time to find an alternative elsewhere. "Someone left that for you on my desk. There's a note inside."

Jed frowned at the young woman. "You don't know where it came from? Who sent it?"

Impatiently, Abbey grabbed the box out of Jed's hands and opened it. "How lovely," she murmured, a slight smile crossing her face. "Look, Jed. It's a rosary."

Jed only gave the rosary a passing glance, instead focusing on his wife's employee. "Did you have the Secret Service check this out before bringing it up here?"

Suddenly at a loss for words, Amy just shook her head. She knew better but she hadn't thought about much of anything since the Acting First Lady had tossed her out on her ear when she'd shown up offering her help. Who knew the woman wasn't awake at 5 am. Everyone else certainly was.

Another knock sounded on the door. 

Jed yelled, "Come!" while continuing to glare at Amy. "Weren't you told how to handle the mail?

Especially something that just shows up on your desk?"

Debbie Fiderer walked into the room with some messages for her boss. Never one to misread a room, at least not when she was drug free, she kept her mouth shut and waited.

Amy blushed. "Of course. I just ..."

"Jed, there's a note. It says, 'I wish you the comfort of God's compassion during your time of pain.' There's no signature though." Abbey accidentally dropped the note after reading it aloud.

Debbie bent down and picked up the small card, just as Jed boomed, "Amy, how the hell did you know that wasn't from a terrorist or the kidnapper? It didn't come in the regular mail - it hasn't been checked out by the Secret Service. You might have destroyed evidence or walked a bomb into this room."

Abbey blanched and looked down at the delicate box and its contents. "Jed, I really don't think . ."

"That's the problem," the President bellowed in full rage, "no one around here is thinking. No one around here is doing their job. Amy, pack up your things. You no longer work here. Debbie, take that box and the note downstairs to Ron, immediately. Abbey, you ..."

He took a breath as he saw the murderous look on his wife's face. "You do what you want. I'm going for a walk." 

As he slammed out the door, Debbie gingerly took the box from the First Lady. "I'll just run this downstairs."

Amy stared at her employer, waiting for some sign that she wasn't going to go along with the President's decree. 

Abbey didn't say a word, just turned back to the window.

Debbie gestured for the young woman to come with her. 

Chin in the air, Amy beat the President's executive assistant out the door.

Debbie sighed. She hadn't been able to deliver the messages that Leo had given her. Hopefully they weren't anything that couldn't wait until the President cooled down. Quite a fuss over a rosary and a note. One thing did give her pause. There was writing on the back of the card. Just a time - 12:04 am. She hoped Ron Butterfield knew what to make of it. Probably just an appointment the sender had jotted down and forgotten. Strange time though, she thought walking down the hall and heading for Ron's office in the basement. Someone kept worse hours than she did.


	8. Rebound 8

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

9:00 pm, Sunday evening

"Where's Donna?" CJ asked as she flopped into one of Josh's chairs. "I didn't see her out front."

"She's down in the law library. She wanted to access Westlaw to get more info on Tom Jordan. I've been running around so much for Walken, setting up meetings with the Senate leadership, that I've barely seen her. She mumbled something about some odd information in a couple of recent articles she found on Sarah Jordan, but said she couldn't be sure until she ran a more extensive search. How about Danny?"

"He's been holed up in my office while I've been in the press room. I'm getting some flack from other reporters who want to know why the Washington Post is getting an exclusive." CJ ran her hand through her hair in exasperation.

"Well he is getting an exclusive in some ways," Josh laughed, relieved to have something funny to think about, even as CJ shot death glares his way. "Seriously, what have you been telling other reporters? Anyone else getting the same leads he is?"

"No, but then there isn't another reporter in that room who's as good as Danny," CJ said with pride. "But I've been telling them that Mr. Concannon got sick from a chili dog he scarfed down and is passed out on my couch. Given his reputation for gluttony, so far they seem to be buying it."

Just then Will and Ainsley came in, followed by Charlie and Debbie. Charlie slid down on the floor, head against the wall, eyes closed, while Will stepped back outside and rolled in two more desk chairs from the bullpen.

"Mac will be along in a sec. He's still talking to Ron Butterfield," Debbie explained. "Ron trusts Mac's instincts, but the Secret Service 'Powers that Be' are still insisting that it's Qumari terrorists."

"Well, if it is," Ainsley piped up, "it's not the group that sent that ransom note. I've been studying it some more, and the group that wrote that note didn't use the dialect common to the region. I'd bet my granpappy's hog farm on that group being USA born and bred."

"Let's wait another few minutes until Donna, Danny, and Mac get here," Josh said, exhaustion evident in his voice. "I tried to talk to Leo about our concerns, but he brushed me off, telling me to leave it to the experts."

"I know," Debbie offered soothingly. "But to tell the truth, I think the experts are looking for the wrong guys. I'm more convinced than ever that it's not an international conspiracy."

"So who is it?" Josh demanded.

"It could be Tom and Sarah Jordan," Donna announced, walking into the room and perching on the edge of the desk. Josh wondered where she got her boundless energy and fundamental optimism.

"What did you find?" CJ asked eagerly.

"Well the Jordans certainly have reason to hate the Bartlet administration. Once we withdrew support from his candidacy, Jordan not only lost the race, he lost his job since he'd resigned from the post in order to run and there was no interest in having back a 'loser'." Donna made air quotes, and then continued. "So Tom went into solo practice, but lots of corporate clients didn't want to use a lawyer who no longer had close contacts in the White House, the Jordans having burnt that bridge in their last conversation with Sam. With no public service job and a failing private practice, Tom decided to cut corners and pulled some shady deals which resulted in his disbarment. The end of this story isn't pretty. They moved to a small town in Loudon county Virginia, about 50 miles from here. Sarah is selling Amway, Tom is working at Home Depot, and a recent article in a local newspaper included quotes from Sarah calling President Bartlet, the spawn of Satan. I checked with the local sheriff's office who confirmed that the Jordans have been vocal about their hatred for the Bartlets - and here's the part that's interesting, neither Jordan has been seen for the last five days."

Danny and Mac had walked in while Donna was talking.

"So we can't eliminate the Jordans," CJ said thoughtfully.

"I don't think so," Donna answered. "It would take some doing, but they've had four years to plan their revenge."

"Well, I don't think you should write off The West Virginia White Pride group as possible kidnappers. The only hesitation I have is that frankly if you added up the collective IQ of the group, it still wouldn't reach the freezing point of water. This caper sounds a little too slick for them, but on the other hand, Billy Joe Thornton, the current Grand Puma of this exclusive club, has been spouting off his mouth in every bar in the West Virginia hills that he hates the Bartlets and ..." Danny lowered his voice and glanced across the room at Charlie who still had his eyes closed, before adding, "hates that kid who dated the Bartlet's daughter. Billy Joe and his buddies play militia games all the time so they certainly have access to guns, lots of guns, and have no compunction about using them." 

"So we haven't eliminated anyone so far," Josh said, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

"Great work everybody."

"No, I think we can eliminate the Lambs of God group. They've pretty much disbanded and I checked the leaders, all accounted for," Danny said definitively. 

"And Sophia Cruz is 65 years old and is in the last stages of emphysema. We can take her off the list," CJ added. 

"I thought Will was going to ..." Josh started.

CJ held up her hand. "Will was busy. I called the federal prosecutor who handled the case. He said she moved to Virginia not long after the execution. To quote the attorney, 'she was hacking up her lungs then' and that was five years ago." 

"I have another name we can eliminate. Arlene Neiderlander, the woman who blamed Abbey Bartlet for the death of her husband, and was convinced that the Bartlets had paid off the judge to get the case thrown out, well Arlene has also died," Will quietly added.

"So we can cross her off the list," CJ declared, relieved to eliminate another suspect.

"Yes, but you have to add back James Neiderlander," Will interjected. "Her son blames Abbey Bartlet for the death of both of his parents since he believes that his mother died heartbroken and angry that Abbey Bartlet had gotten off the hook. And here's the part that has me worried. James Neiderlander was a Navy Seal, knows how to kill efficiently and silently, and lives in Arlington, Virginia, right across the bridge from the club where Molly was killed. He hasn't been seen in the last week. I checked with his boss who said that Neiderlander hasn't been to work in ten days, and as far as the company is concerned, doesn't have to bother to show up ever again. James Neiderlander is, according to his boss, 'a scary dude'. But if it's any help, you can eliminate the other litigants in the malpractice suits against Dr. Bartlet. They check out clean."

"Charlie, what about Eliot Roush?" Josh asked the young aide gently. "Were you able to confirm his whereabouts?"

Charlie didn't answer for a few moments and the other members of the group exchanged worried glances. Finally, the presidential assistant spoke in a voice so quiet they had to strain to hear it. "I have my doubts about Roush being the kidnapper, but I can't prove it either way. He's been on a hunting trip, according to his secretary, and can't be reached. He's been gone since Wednesday." 

"What makes you doubt that he's the guy?" Mac asked quietly.

"Mostly that Roush has always taken on the President one-on-one. It's personal, but Roush always thinks he can beat him, and sometimes he has. I don't think he thinks of himself as a loser. It's just a game that he intends to keep on playing ... I don't know if that makes any sense. Nothing makes sense to me anymore." The younger man covered his face with his hands.

"No, that makes perfect sense, Charlie," Mac said soothingly. "I think your instincts are right. I know you're tired, but you’ve got to hang in there. I think we've made some progress here."

"What did you find out, Mac?" Debbie asked. "Was Ron Butterfield any help?"

"Ron's open to suggestions but both the FBI and the Secret Service's official position is that the Qumar government, through a terrorist group, has Zoey Bartlet. Ron's trying to get a match on the bullet that killed the agent at the scene. So far the computer hasn't come up with any hits. He's also checking on a gift that showed up for Abbey Bartlet."

"Gift?" Ainsley asked. "What kind of a gift? Food?"

"A gift that got Amy Gardner fired," Debbie muttered, not really surprised at the noisy reaction from the group to her words, after all these were the same people that had left the woman sitting in a tree at Camp David all night long.

"What happened?" Danny asked, pen in hand and pad at the ready.

CJ grabbed the pen and pad, then used the pad to slap him on the top of the head. "Off the record, Fishboy."

Debbie sighed. "She skipped all the security protocols and delivered a carved box containing a rosary to the residence."

"Amy got fired for that?" Will grimaced. "Remind me not to give the Bartlets any gifts."

"Amy didn't know where the gift came from," Debbie explained. "It just showed up on her desk with an unsigned card. It could have been dangerous." 

"Amy's really gone?" Donna asked, looking over at Josh for his reaction.

Josh was smiling. "Ding, dong, the wicked ..."

Mac held up his hand for quiet. "We're off the track here, people. Ron's gonna check the box for fingerprints but I doubt he'll find any except for those of a half-dozen people who handled it after Amy found it. The card is useless, just some standard language about wanting to offer God's comfort in their time of pain, oh and a time jotted on the back, 12:04 am."

CJ frowned and started tapping Danny's pen against her hand. "There's something odd about ..."

"What do we do now?" Charlie asked getting to his feet. 

"We find Roush, Neiderlander, and the Jordans. I'm gonna call someone who might be able to get to someone inside the West Virginia group. Then I guess we . . ."

"Excuse me, CJ?" Carol stood in the doorway with a small gold-foil box. "I found this in the Press Room with your name on it. No return address." 


	9. Rebound 9

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

9:30 pm, Sunday evening

"Open it," Carol suggested, grinning at Danny, sure that the redhaired reporter had sneaked a gift in for her boss. Carol was almost positive, well with a 20 percent margin of error, that something was going on between those two, and maybe the small jeweler's box would confirm that. She looked expectantly between CJ and Danny, and was surprised, and a little mystified, that neither seemed pleased. 

Danny shook his head negatively, and CJ cocked an eyebrow at Mac, who silently put out his hand for the parcel.

"Carol, please confirm with President Walken's staff the 4 pm interview tomorrow with the pool reporters," CJ said briskly, standing and gesturing for Carol to give the box to Mac.

Carol was pretty sure, in fact with only a 5 percent margin of error, that she was being dismissed, but she took the hint and headed for the Oval Office.

Mac looked over the nondescript gold-foil box, then gingerly opened it and peered inside. 

"CJ, do you have a secret admirer? Other than Fish-boy here?" Mac asked, staring at the contents of the box.

Josh leaned over the older man's shoulder for a look, then gasped, which startled the other occupants of the room. "Charlie, get over here."

The young aide scrambled to his feet and quickly crossed the room.

"Are those ...," Josh pressed.

"Oh, God! Those ... those are the earrings I gave her - the ones she was wearing at the Arboretum. I told you that fax was a fake." Charlie was becoming more and more agitated. "Is there a note?" he asked as he reached for the box.

Mac held up his hand and shook his head. "The first package was wiped clean - no fingerprints except for Amy Gardner and her secretary. If this is from the same person, it's probably clean too, but just in case ..." 

He used his free hand to extract a small, worn, zippered leather case from his pocket and then tossed it to Debbie. "Hand me the tweezers."

Debbie silently complied, wondering when she'd become Watson to his Sherlock.

Carefully Mac extracted a tiny scrap of paper on which was printed three lines.

"What does it say?" Donna asked anxiously.

The rest of the room's occupants stared at the ex-CIA agent as he scanned the note.

Mac looked confused, then intoned, "Will a mother's prayers be answered? Will a child be spared? 12:04."

Everyone started talking at once, each with their own interpretation of the note, all that is except one. A shaken CJ sat back down on the chair Will had rolled in from the Bull Pen. She knew what the note meant.

A loud, two-fingered whistle from Ms. Fiderer quieted the room. 

Mac gave the woman an admiring smile. She was full of surprises.

"Josh, call Butterfield. Tell him to drop what he's doing and get over here. We've just gotten a message from the real kidnapper." Mac carefully dropped the note back in the box and replaced the lid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:45 pm, Sunday night

"This office is pretty small," Jed Bartlet commented, walking around the windowless room filled with standard government issue metal furniture, circa 1970. "Strange I've never been down here before."

"It meets my needs," Ron Butterfield responded, stiffly standing behind his desk as though he was in uniform and remaining at attention while the Commander-In-Chief inspected his quarters. "Is there something I can do for you, Sir?"

Jed grimaced and instructed Ron to sit back down and continue with what he'd been doing before Jed had appeared at his basement office door.

"Abbey and I - well we wanted to know ... I wanted to know what's going on with the investigation. What's going on with it right now, this minute? Who's doing what?" Jed paced the width of the room and back. "Did you find out anything about that rosary? Was it important?"

Ron remained standing, he wasn't going to sit until the President sat. "The CIA is coordinating with the FBI trying to track down the terrorist group that sent the fax. I have the autopsy report on Agent O'Connor. We're running a ballistics check on the bullet used to kill Molly to see if the same gun was used in other crimes ... Mr. President, can I get you a glass of water? Maybe you should sit down for a few minutes."

Ron rounded his desk and pushed a chair behind a suddenly teetering Jed Bartlet. "Sit, Sir," Ron barked, then belatedly added, "please."

Jed gave the stone-faced Secret Service Agent a slight smile and followed his order. "I'm okay, I just haven't slept since ..." He stared up at the head of his security detail. "Tell me the truth, Ron. Are you any closer to finding her than you were 15 hours ago?"

Ron opened his mouth to answer when his pager, cell phone, and office phone all began making noise at the same time.

"Excuse me, Sir. I have a feeling something important is happening," Ron responded, grabbing his desk phone. 

Bartlet nodded his consent.

"Butterfield," the Agent said with a snap to his tone. "Mac Sullivan said what? Okay. I'm on my way."

"Ron?" the President asked, getting to his feet. "Is it something about Zoey? If it is I want to know."

"Let's find out. Apparently something is going on in Josh Lyman's office that we need to see." Ron gestured for the President to follow him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:50 pm, Sunday night

When Ron opened the Deputy Chief of Staff's door, he found a roomful of silent people staring at a small box sitting in the middle of Josh's desk. Ron took a second to scan their faces, hoping to discover the best way to handle the situation. 

The man following behind Ron lacked his patience.

"Somebody talk!" Jed ordered, his face flushed and his breathing harsh, only partly from the exertion of their hurried trip up multiple flights of stairs and through seemingly miles of corridors and hallways. He pushed past the Secret Service Agent and claimed the small open space in the center of the room as his own. 

The staff in the room rose almost as one to their feet.

Mac cleared his throat. "I'm just gonna say this without all the frills and maybes. Your daughter's been kidnapped by someone with a personal grudge against you or your wife. Forget the Quamaris. And while you're at it, forget the faxed ransom note. That piece of trash is just someone trying to cash in on someone else's crime."

The ex-CIA agent took a breath, giving someone else a chance to speak. No one did. 

"Okay. Now - here's the way we see it. The real kidnapper has sent two packages to you. You've seen the first. A second was recovered from the Press Room a few minutes ago." Mac pointed over to the box on Josh's desk. "Your kid's captor is talking to you, Mr. President. The trick is figuring out who they are and what they're saying. The people in this room have been working hard at determining just who hates you and the First Lady the most. So far we've got a list of suspects and a whole lot of questions."

The President stared at the ex-CIA agent, trying to understand the words he'd just heard. Finally, he keyed in on one of Mac's earliest statements. "Explain why you think the faxed note is a fake."

Mac nodded in Charlie's direction. "Tell him, son."

Charlie took a step forward. "It wasn't a real photograph of Zoey, at least not one taken last night. I think the photo was one someone put together using an old head shot of Zoey and someone else wearing clothes similar to the ones CJ described for the press. But I saw Zoey right before she went to the nightclub. She had on a pair of earrings that I'd given her years ago. CJ didn't know about them, so she didn't include it in the description of what Zoey was wearing. The people who sent the fax didn't know. The woman in the faxed photograph wasn't wearing those earrings."

The President shook his head. "That's hardly proof of ..."

Danny chimed in, "The earrings are in the package sitting on Josh's desk. You need to get the FBI checking out the list of people we've come up with. I'm putting my money on that Jordan guy that you people screwed over. Or maybe Elliot Roush."

Jed Bartlet directed his confused gaze first at the reporter he hadn't noticed until that moment, and then to the box on the desk. "Ron?"

A suddenly angry Butterfield made a sweeping motion with his arm. "What is this? Everyone thinks they can do my job better than me?" 

"Well, perhaps we have a certain perspective that ..." Will stopped talking when the Agent trained his steely gaze on him, then added, "Perhaps not."

Ron put his hands on his hips, not unintentionally opening his jacket and flashing his holstered weapon at them. "Bullshit. I don't need help from the Hardy Boys. You're wasting my time. Time I don't have to spare. Time Zoey Bartlet doesn't have to spare."

The President's sudden intake of breath was audible.

"We just want to help," Debbie bristled, facing off with Ron. "You need to keep your ego in your pocket and hear us out."

"Elliot Roush?" The President ignored the tempers flaring around him. "You really think that old fascist windbag would ..."

Butterfield cleared his throat, interrupting his boss. "The Press, Sir."

Bartlet glanced at Danny again, then nodded at Ron.

Butterfield moved to the doorway. "Okay, everybody outside. Mac, you stay."

Josh and Donna quickly exited the room, with Will amd Ainsley close behind them. 

Debbie took Charlie's arm and tugged. Reluctantly, the young aide complied.

Danny tried to blend back into the wall, but Ron trained his eagle eyes on him and took several steps in his direction. Taking into consideration that the Agent was armed, Danny decided to join the others outside.

Mac moved over and shut the office door, realizing as he turned the lock that there was a fourth person in the room. "CJ?"

The Press Secretary had silently remained seated in the corner ever since Mac had read the note that accompanied the earrings. At the sound of her name, she raised her troubled eyes and found the President's.

"CJ?" Jed Bartlet took a step towards her. He couldn't remember her ever remaining seated when he'd entered a room. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head. Opening her mouth to speak, no words came out.

Ron Butterfield's patience was at an end. "Spit it out, Ms. Cregg. What do you know about all this?"

Mac grabbed an opened bottle of water off of Josh's desk and handed it to the upset woman. 

CJ took a sip and then grimaced when she realized that the bottle was half-empty. Drinking after Josh was something she studiously avoided ever since the first campaign when she'd seen him return more liquid to the soda bottle than he'd drank.

Shoving the bottle back at Mac, CJ got to her feet and faced the men. "It's not the Jordans. It's not Elliot Roush. It's Simon Cruz."

"Simon Cruz is dead," Jed whispered, his eyes searching hers.

"Yeah." CJ took a deep breath. "And he died at 12:04 am on a Monday morning." 


	10. Rebound 10

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

10:00 pm, Sunday night

"CJ, stop it!" Jed snapped. "Simon Cruz died five years ago. How the hell could he be involved in this?"

"I don't know, I don't know," CJ said in frustration, tears brimming in her eyes. "I think - I think it's his mother who's behind all this."

Jed turned in disbelief to Ron and Mac. "His mother? What do we know about his mother?"

"Her name is Sophia," CJ continued, her voice so low that the men had to strain to hear it. "I didn't want to know her name. I didn't want to know that Simon Cruz had a mother when I came to tell you that it was over - that he had been executed."

"She's 65 and in poor health," Mac added. "She moved to the area a few years ago."

"But Simon Cruz was a drug dealer. He killed those men. It was a fair trial. This wasn't some innocent man who was executed. This was a murderer," Jed insisted, voice growing louder from fear and anger.

"Is there anything that Zoey could do that would make you stop loving her?" CJ whispered, crossing her arms as though protecting herself from the waves of pain that she felt emanating from the distraught father. "Simon Cruz was someone's child. Sophia Cruz wanted her child to live, no matter what he had done. I think that's what she is telling you. That a parent's love survives death."

"What are we going to do?" Jed asked wildly. "Did she kill Zoey as punishment for my decision to execute her son? Is this an eye for an eye - a child for a child?"

Mac looked at his watch, then at the President. "I think Zoey is still alive and will be until at least 12:04."

"What does she want? Does she want me to beg? I'll get down on my knees and plead if she'll..."

Tears were running down CJ's face. "She wants you to feel what she felt that night. The night she waited and prayed for you to give her son a reprieve, a stay."

The Secret Service man put down the phone he'd grabbed when the Press Secretary first began talking. "Mr. President, I've ordered a SWAT team to Sophia Cruz's apartment. If Zoey is there, we'll get her. Go back to the residence and wait with Mrs. Bartlet. I'll keep you informed."

"No!" The President shouted. "I want to go with the team. Maybe Mrs. Cruz will listen to me." 

"You can't, Sir. We need the element of surprise and the ability to negotiate if we have to. Mr. President, it's important that you let us handle this," Ron said firmly, giving CJ a look, silently asking for her assistance.

CJ swiped at her eyes with one hand and donned her professional mantle of control. Opening the door, she motioned to Debbie and Charlie. "Please go with the President back upstairs. We'll let you know what's happening."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:15 pm, Sunday night

Josh glanced across the room at his girlfriend. Eyes closed, she was lost in thought, maybe prayer. He wondered if he had used up his quotient of good karma a few months earlier when he and Donna had finally gotten together. Did he have any chits he could call in with God to make sure that Zoey was ok? Any deals he could cut to make sure that this raid ended safely? His first response to the President's decision to invoke the 25th was to question the politics of the choice. Looking at Donna he realized he'd trade everything he had, past, present, and future, to keep her safe. 

His office had unexpectedly cleared. Ron Butterfield and Mac had raced back to the Secret Service command post to plan the raid on Sophia Cruz's home. 

After much resistance, the President had reluctantly agreed to return to the residence to inform Abbey of the latest finding. Debbie and Charlie had accompanied him, and would wait there on pins and needles praying for a successful outcome. CJ and Danny had gone to her office. She would call in the pool reporters to alert them of the impending raid - since it would soon be clear that something was in the works - but to request that they hold off coverage in order to preserve the necessary secrecy. Will and Ainsley were to handle coordination with Walken's office. Hope was at last alive.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Donna broke the silence.

"To set it up, bring in the manpower, do the necessary reconnaissance - probably an hour? They need the element of surprise so Cruz doesn't ..." He didn't finish the sentence. No one wanted to consider what would happen to Zoey if Sophia Cruz knew that the FBI was closing in on her.

"When this is all over and Zoey is safe and President Bartlet is back in office, I'm resigning," Donna said quietly, eyes still closed.

Josh inhaled sharply and grasped the edge of his desk, hoping to hold onto something concrete as things suddenly began spiraling out of control. "Why?" he managed to eke out.

Slowly opening her eyes, she faced him and he could see in her azure blue eyes, a clarity of purpose. Confused he leaned forward and repeated his question. "Why?"

Offering a small smile and an outstretched hand, she said softly, "I don't want to be discreet anymore."

He looked at her, still unsure of her meaning, but relieved by the connection he felt just by touching her hand.

"If I've learned anything from this nightmare, it's keeping a sense of priority of what is important in life. I love you and don't want to hide it. Next time someone asks me if I'm in love with you, the answer will be an immediate 'yes'. Does that make sense?" she asked, searching his face to see if he understood what she was trying to say.

He nodded, surprised, but at the same time not surprised at all by the connection they shared without words. She was right, of course. She ‘got’ him. "I'll talk to Leo about you reporting to him."

"Why would I report to Leo?" she asked, confused. 

"Everybody else reports to me," he said, a slight grin showing at the corners of his lips. He sobered as he added, "unless you don't want to work with me anymore. Maybe 24/7 of the Lyman magic ..." his voice trailed off.

She squeezed his hand and shook her head vigorously. "I love Lyman - period."

"It's so different with you," he whispered, standing up and starting to round the desk. "I can work with you all day and can't wait until we get home to be with you some more. I've never let anyone be this close to me before. No barriers between us ..."

"No security checkpoints to pass," Donna smiled, walking to meet him.

"You have a free pass to my ..." Josh stopped short. "Oh my God. No security checkpoints," he gasped.

"I was just continuing your metaphor," Donna explained.

"Why weren't there any security checkpoints?" Josh demanded.

"To your heart?" Donna was confused, trying to follow his logic.

"Come on, we've got to find Mac now," Josh yelled, grabbing her hand and running down the hall at full speed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:15 pm, Sunday night

"Come on," Danny urged, his hand pressing on the small of her back, as he directed her down the staircase into the White House Mess. "You've got your pager. Carol said she'd beep if you were needed."

"I'm not really hungry," she protested, but too tired to resist his demand that she eat something.

"Too bad, since you're about to have a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake." He grinned at the expression on her face. "Okay - maybe a bowl of soup and some salad."

"Fine. But we need to hurry. I'll have to be prepared to brief as soon as we get word on what the SWAT team finds at Sophia Cruz's home." 

"It may be awhile. You need some food. Mac said you didn't look so good back in Josh's office,"

Danny responded, worry coloring his tone.

CJ glanced sideways at him. "Once I managed to get over the shock - anyway food isn't the answer to all problems."

"Don't tell my mother that," Danny quipped. "She swears that if everyone in the world ate three square meals a day - war would be a thing of the past, along with crime, low test scores, and rock music."

Raising her eyebrows at him, she laughed. "Rock music?"

Danny shrugged. "She thinks rock musicians sound hungry. Mom's theory is that a few bowls of her chicken and dumplings, and Axl Rose would sound more like Sinatra."

CJ smiled. "I'd like to meet your mother some time."

He grinned, opening the swinging door to the Mess. "Believe me, she wants to meet you, too."

They entered the Mess, the attendant nodding at CJ and then holding out his hand for Danny's White House security pass. 

Danny pulled it out from under his jacket lapel, the neck cord having twisted and hidden the photo identification card from view. 

The attendant checked Danny's name against a list on his computer. "Thank you, Mr. Concannon."

The lateness of the hour limited their food choices. The salads were limp, but the big pot of soup at one end of the counter tempted them.

CJ ladled them each a bowl of the steaming vegetable soup while Danny collected rolls and an order of fries for them to share.

They sat in companionable silence at a table, each making an attempt to eat, each wondering how Zoey was faring. 

Danny leaned forward and his laminated pass dipped into his soup. "Damn, I really hate these things," he growled, grabbing a napkin and wiping it off. "But you can't go anywhere on the White House grounds without . . ."

"Oh, my God," CJ whispered, her eyes suddenly wide. 

"Don't worry about it. I've done it before plenty of times, my cleaners can get out everything but mustard," he assured her, continuing to dab at the security pass and now the additional stains that had migrated to his dress shirt. "Of course I did wait three weeks to take it to ..."

"Not your shirt, Fishboy. How did those packages get into the West Wing? They didn't have a postmark - someone walked them in. Someone with a security pass."

Startled, Danny dropped his pass, letting it splash into the bowl again. He nodded, excitement crossing his features. "It's an inside job. Sophia Cruz had help, someone who works in the White House."

CJ nodded. "We need to talk to Ron. Now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:35 pm, Sunday night

"You'd think Ron would have a better office," Josh reflected, staring at the locked door. He and Donna were sitting on a wooden bench - a hard wooden bench - against the opposite wall.

"Have you been in there before?" Donna asked shifting a little, trying to find a way to sit comfortably on the Eisenhower-era furniture.

Josh shook his head, indicating that he hadn't and slumped on the bench, putting the pressure on the lower part of his buttocks instead of his tailbone.

"Then how do you know it's not great on the inside?" She gave up on sitting and decided that leaning against the wall would be preferable.

"Nothing in this building is ever better than it seems." He glanced up at her and sighed. "Where did Ron's assistant say he was?"

"Sit room with Mac, briefing Nancy McNally. Georgia talked to him. Ron wants us to wait here. She quoted him as saying, 'tell them that whatever they've dreamed up can wait until we find out if Zoey is in Sophia Cruz's apartment'."

Josh frowned. "I'm still sensing a lack of confidence on Ron's part of our deductive powers."

Donna reached out and patted the top of his head. "If they find Zoey in the next couple of minutes, we'll have plenty of time to explain our theory."

He wasn't mollified. "I think even his assistant is just humoring us. You know her? Georgia what-ever-her-name-is?"

"Georgia Winston. She's been here as long as we have, Josh. You need to circulate more." Donna smiled at him.

"That's what I have ..." Josh lost his train of thought as he got a glimpse of CJ and Danny jogging down the hall. CJ was in the lead, but just because her legs were longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:45 pm, Sunday night

"I guess that happens all the time," CJ commented, shifting her weight to one hip as she studied the abysmal condition of her nails. She needed to remember to hide her hands during her upcoming press conference.

Danny leaned forward, planting his feet flat on the floor, tilting his weight onto the backs of his thighs.

Josh had graciously offered the bench to the Press Secretary and the reporter. Now they were enjoying it as much as he and Donna had.

"What happens all the time?" Donna asked, her arms crossed over her body as she continued to lean against the wall. 

The four were all worried and nervous - the idle chatter their only mechanism for relieving the growing tension.

"People in different locations coming up with the same idea at the exact same time," Danny answered for CJ, leaning back and resting the side of one foot on his opposite knee. 

That position lasted only 3-and-a-half seconds, Josh noted, or maybe less. He still didn't have a good watch.

"Serendipity?" CJ hazarded, arching her back and pressing one of her hands against her lower spine. "Is that the right word?"

"That's finding something good by pure chance - luck," Josh claimed. "It wasn't luck. And it wasn't good."

"Okay," an irritated Danny growled, standing and stretching. "We shouldn't just be sitting here waiting. We need to tell Ron Butterfield what we've figured out."

Donna sighed. "Georgia said to ..."

"Go up to the residence. He'll meet you there." The short brunette had reappeared in front of them. "The SWAT team's calls are going to be directed there."

"Thanks," CJ groaned, reaching out a hand to Danny for help getting to her feet. "You should get a cushion for this bench."

The petite assistant grinned. "Ron likes it the way it is. Says it gets people in the right frame of mind to be interviewed."

"It would be kinder to just shoot them with a stun gun," Josh retorted. 

"He has one of those, too," Georgia answered, straight-faced. She loved it when the surface dwellers had to spend time in the hole with the people who really made things run.


	11. Rebound 11

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

11:00 pm, Sunday night

"Nooooo, please God, no." The gut-wrenching scream from Abigail Bartlet pierced the night and echoed down the winding halls of the old building, halls that had heard similar screams from other First Ladies.

Jed grabbed hold of his wife as her knees buckled, and they slid, as if in slow motion, to the carpeted floor. 

The President and Mrs. Bartlet, Charlie, Debbie, Mac and Ron were in the sitting room of the private residence, where they'd been awaiting the outcome of the raid on Sophia Cruz's apartment. 

"Dammit, Ron! What do you think it means?" Jed demanded, clasping his sobbing wife to his chest, then gingerly helping her up with Mac's assistance, and moving to the loveseat. "Was it just a wild goose chase?"

Abbey's cries softened and she looked towards the Secret Service Agent, her eyes desperate for answers, desperate for some measure of hope.

Ron Butterfield's stoic expression remained unchanged. Only the fact that he shifted from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching his fists, betrayed his frustration and concern. "I'm not sure what it means, Mr. President. The Cruz apartment was vacant. The neighbors said she'd been there in recent days, but the closets were empty. The FBI is dusting for fingerprints, but at first glance there's no sign that Zoey was ever there."

"So you think we go back and put pressure on Qumar?" Jed pushed, trying to move on from this disappointment and find another end to the nightmare. "Do we continue the negotiations on the prisoners release? Stall for more time?"

The Secret Service Agent shook his head. These decisions weren't his to make. "Maybe Mr. McGarry should be ..."

"No, Mr. President. Whether or not it's Sophia Cruz, it's not the group that sent the ransom note," Charlie argued, not afraid to give his opinion. "The photo is wrong. I'm positive of that. And I'm sure that the high-priced experts doing the analysis will come to that same conclusion - in the next ten days or so. Zoey doesn't have that much time."

"Charlie." Debbie put her hand on his forearm, trying to calm him down.

"What about that guy Jordan?" The young aide looked at Mac.

"Maybe," the ex-CIA agent/cabdriver said thoughtfully. "But I would have sworn . . ."

"Maybe it's one of the other people on the list. Maybe it's the son of that patient of yours?" Debbie questioned, looking at the First Lady.

"It's all my fault," Abbey murmured, her eyes dazed, her features betraying her devastation. 

"Abbey, we don't know that it's Neiderlander," Jed soothed. "And even if it is, you're certainly not to blame."

"No," Abbey said fiercely, straightening her posture, a sudden burst of anger flowing through her. "I should have stopped you from running for President the first time, and left you when you decided to run for a second term." 

She stood up and backed away from him, arms crossed over her chest, as if to hold herself together. Her voice rose as she hurled accusations at her husband. "I should have protected Zoey from all of this. She never wanted any of it, any of this ..." Abbey swept one arm outward, indicating the room - the people - the White House. "It's why Liz stays in New Hampshire and Ellie never wants to come home. Oh, God, Jed. I should have stopped you." Abbey abruptly ceased her tirade, deflated by the racking emotions, and began to sob softly. 

Jed moved quickly to hold her.

Abbey batted his hands away at first, but he persisted, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.

Finally, she collapsed against him, just as the shrill ring of the telephone startled the uneasy group.

"Butterfield," the agent barked into the phone, one hand reaching up to rub the knotted muscles at the base of his neck.

Even as he still cradled Abbey in his arms, Jed shifted his focus from his wife to the news being transmitted.

"Mr. President." A breathless Josh burst into the room, followed closely by Donna, CJ, and Danny. They stopped short as a quick glance around the room telegraphed that something bad had happened.

"Did they find Zoey?" Donna turned to Charlie. 

He shook his head, then nodded towards Butterfield who was still listening intently, his brow furrowed, trying to digest what he was being told. 

When Butterfield hung up the phone, he was assaulted with questions from the anxious group.

"Is it Zoey?"

"Did they find her?"

"Find something that said she'd been there?"

Butterfield held up his hand to ask for silence, then turned to Mac for guidance. "I'm not sure if this is good news or bad news." 

Mac nodded, encouraging Butterfield to continue.

"That was the FBI. They got a ballistics match on the bullet that killed Molly. It was from the same gun that killed three drug dealers in Michigan."

"The gun that Simon Cruz used?" Mac asked.

"That gun was never found. They convicted Cruz on other evidence, but the bullets were a match, so, I think ..."

"We're back where we started? A dead man's come back for his revenge? Dammit, Ron." Jed angrily interrupted. "Where the hell is Sophia Cruz? I thought you said she was an invalid. How did she kidnap Zoey?" 

"I don't think she did, Mr. President," CJ interrupted, taking a step forward.

"You were the one who insisted that she was the key," Butterfield accused the Press Secretary, frustration boiling over his normal steel reserve.

"She's part of the plot, but it has to be ... We think ... because of the packages and where they were found that it has to be ..."

"An inside job," Mac finished, shaking his head in self-disgust. "Of course, what the hell were we thinking? How else did the two gifts get in the White House unless there was someone who got past all the security checkpoints without raising any alarms."

"Exactly," Josh shouted, pointing at the former CIA agent. "It's got to be someone who moves without question in the West Wing. Are we sure Jean-Paul is who he claims to be? Do we know for a fact that he was too drugged up to be a part of this?"

Butterfield shook his head. "It's not Jean-Paul. The agents assigned to him had him under surveillance the whole time."

"Unlike the agents protecting my daughter," Bartlet sarcastically added, his blue eyes flashing darkly.

A vein on the side of Butterfield's temple was his only response to his Commander-In-Chief's rebuke.

"It was someone Zoey trusted," Donna softly announced, bringing them back to the current issue. As questioning eyes turned to her, she added, "Because there was no struggle and she didn't press the panic button."

Ron nodded at the young woman, understanding and appreciating her action. "And someone got close enough to shoot Molly point blank, so it had to be someone she also knew. Someone who didn't set off any alarms when she saw them approaching."

"Who? Who could have gotten that close?" Charlie’s voice was tight with emotion and he began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace as though standing in one place was now an impossibility; as though he felt the time slipping away from them. "Who would Molly let that close to her?"

"Wes, Jamie, and Randi were the other agents on Zoey's detail that night," Butterfield spoke out, following the train of thought to its logical conclusion. "There were other agents of course, but they weren't in the club and wouldn't have had access to Zoey."

"But why? God, Jed, we've told Zoey to trust her agents, to do what they say without question."

Abbey angrily pulled out of his arms and moved a few feet away, trying to regain control of her emotions. 

For a moment there was silence as the people in the room saw the woman's almost physical transformation from hysterical mother into hard-as-steel First Lady. "Why would one of them want to help Sophia Cruz?" Abbey harshly questioned. 

"Maybe for the same reason Sophia did, to avenge Simon's death," Debbie said thoughtfully.

"As a protest against capital punishment? I don't think so," Jed responded skeptically. "And why Simon Cruz? He's scarcely the poster boy you'd choose."

"It's personal, Mr. President. This whole thing is personal," Debbie insisted. "Maybe one of the agents is a relative, a child ...maybe one of them is Simon's child. Did he ..."

"He wasn't married," CJ offered, sitting down on an empty chair, her energy almost gone. 

"That doesn't mean he didn't have kids," Debbie shot back. 

CJ shook her head, shivered as a sudden chill struck her. "I don't . . ."

Danny, having moved to stand behind CJ's chair, rested a warm hand on her shoulder. "There wasn't anything in the public records about children."

"The agents were all vetted and I know that it would have shown up in their security checks if one of them had a father who'd been a convicted murderer," Butterfield argued.

Debbie sighed, she should have known taking this job meant that no part of her life would remain private. "Mr. President," she asked suddenly, "did you know that I have a son?'

Jed looked confused, then shook his head. "It wasn't in the file ..." his voice trailed off.

"I'm guessing that it was missed because he uses a different last name and hasn't lived with me since he was fifteen and went to stay with his father," Debbie softly interrupted. 

Butterfield froze for a split second, then grabbed the phone. He punched in a code, then snapped, "Code 550 Bravo. Crash the West Wing and assemble the SWAT team, stat."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Something must have happened," Ainsley calmly surmised, as an armed soldier burst into the small office that Babbish had temporarily assigned her.

A nervous Will jumped to his feet, legal-sized folders tumbling from the conference table onto the floor. "What's going on?" 

His question went unanswered as the young Navy guard checked out the room and its inhabitants.

"Are we in danger?" Ainsley asked, turning her blue eyes pleadingly on the uniformed man.

Relenting, the young man responded. "It's a crash, ma'am. Stay in here until someone says you can leave."

Will and Ainsley stared at the door as it closed behind the corpsman, both wondering if the crash had anything to do with the kidnapping or if some other nation or group had decided that this night, with a substitute President in charge, was the perfect time to strike.

"Will?" Ainsley rose to her feet. She nervously tucked her long hair behind her ears.  "What should we do?"

The young speechwriter didn't say anything. His face solemn, Will turned towards her and held out a hand. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Abbey?" Jed tried to hand her a glass of water, but she refused.

They were both well aware that everyone in the room watched them with concern.

"What can I do?" he quietly asked, his voice ragged with guilt as he sat down beside her on the loveseat and reached for one of her hands.

"Nothing," Abbey coldly whispered, crossing her arms and shifting away from him. "Nothing, besides giving me back my daughter."

The President and First Lady sat stiffly on the small sofa - together but alone.


	12. Rebound 12

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

11:50 pm, Sunday night

"I'm hungry," a bored Ainsley mentioned, not really expecting Will to respond. He'd been deep in thought ever since they'd been confined in the small basement office.

Will rubbed his reddened eyes, it had been a long day and he was tired. Replacing his glasses, he glanced at his cell mate. Actually, he glanced at her high heels. 

Ainsley was sitting on the conference table, swinging her surprising long legs back and forth. The gray suit with its straight knee-length skirt showed off her petite figure to advantage. The high-heeled black pumps did the same for her legs. At the moment, one shoe was hanging off her stockinged toes, in immediate danger of flying off with the next swing of her leg. 

"I have candy," he stated, his voice embarrassing him by squeaking on the second syllable of the word 'candy.' It only did that when he was nervous and he was always nervous around beautiful women, always nervous around Ainsley.

"Candy?" She perked up considerably, ceasing the movement of her legs mid-swing. "What kind and where?"

He watched the shoe fall to the carpeted floor, leaving one small foot defenseless. "Strawberry Twizzlers in my briefcase."

"No chocolate?" Her legs started swinging again.

Will could hear the disappointment in her voice. Figures, he thought. He hadn't managed to do anything right all day long. He should be upstairs with the others - helping find Zoey - helping run the government. Instead, Leo had assigned him to help the Acting President by working with Oliver Babish and Ainsley. Oliver Babish was closeted with Walken in the Oval Office and Ainsley didn't need his help reviewing the 25th Amendment. Everyone really just wanted him out of the way. He was useless in a crisis. Utterly useless. 

Will stared at Ainsley's feet and waited for the other shoe to drop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:50 pm, Sunday night

"How much longer until we hear?" Jed asked, for the fifth time in 15 minutes. The President and Mrs. Bartlet still sat on the loveseat, their bodies having moved closer together despite the anger and fear keeping them apart emotionally. 

Abbey had her eyes closed, fingering the rosary Jed had given her on their wedding day, silently moving her lips in prayer. 

Debbie sat in a club chair opposite the First Couple, anxiously glancing between the overwrought parents and the rest of the staff, most having grabbed floor space as they awaited the outcome of the raids on the apartments of Wesley Davis, Jamie Reed, and Randi Weathers. 

The FBI had located Wes and Jamie immediately. They'd both been in Secret Service headquarters working on the case, never having been home. Both vehemently denied any knowledge of Simon or Sophia Cruz. 

Randi had not been seen since the first hour after the kidnapping. Josh remembered seeing all three agents when they tried to interview Jean-Paul in the first minutes after the incident, but no one had seen her since. Her absence, in the midst of the chaos, hadn't been noted. 

"What does the background report show?" Donna whispered to Josh. They sat with their backs against the wall, Josh's arm draped around Donna's shoulders. On his lap was the Secret Service vetting report on Randi Weathers which he was scanning.

"Not much. She's from Michigan. Her mother died four years ago. No father was named on her birth certificate. She graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in chemistry. She also picked up a minor in French."

Josh turned a few pages. "Did a hitch in the Marines. Got an honorable discharge."

He turned more pages, angling the file so he could read it better. "She joined the Secret Service four years ago, she's worked on the Vice President's detail, then was at Camp David for a few months, and finally was assigned to Zoey's detail just a month ago, when the France trip first came up."

"So do you think ..." Donna started, then paused. "Do you think she's the one who killed Molly?"

"I don't know. All I really know is that it's almost midnight." Josh glanced at his watch, then leaned over and glanced at Donna's to double-check the time. "There's only 12 minutes until the deadline."

Mac and Ron were seated at a small table in the corner, headsets on, monitoring the moves of the SWAT teams. 

"Wes Davis's apartment is clear," Mac announced to the room. "The team just entered and there's no sign of Zoey or Sophia Cruz."

"Reed's apartment is also clean," Ron declared, his eyes closed as he concentrated on the static-filled voices coming through the headset.

"What about Randi's?" CJ asked. She was still sitting on the chair she'd sank into earlier, but now Danny's jacket was draped around her shoulders, a comforting but inadequate substitute for his arms. 

As she waited for Ron's answer, she glanced over at the reporter as he sat perched on an ottoman to her left, scribbling notes in his ever-present note book.

Danny felt her eyes on him and looked up. His eyes conveyed a wealth of information, not least of which were his feelings towards her and the question he'd asked her before they'd arrived at Josh's that morning.

The sound of the agent's voice interrupted their silent conversation. 

Ron spoke slowly, his voice halting as he tried to listen and talk at the same time. "According to the captain of the SWAT team ... the apartment is dark and quiet. They've ...they've snaked a mini-camera under the door ... appears ... it appears the place is empty. I'm waiting ..."

Everyone held their breath, waiting for his next words.

"It's clear! She's not there ... But wait." Ron held up a hand, calling for silence in the suddenly noisy room as his words about Zoey sank in. 

"What? What did you find? Describe it to me," Ron barked into the phone.

"Multi-colored silk jacket - jewel tones - what the hell are ...never mind." Ron covered the mouthpiece of the phone and spoke to the group. "The agent found a silk jacket on a folding chair in the middle of Randi Weather's living room. There was a note attached to it and two photos laid on top," Ron explained, looking expectantly at the group.

"It's Zoey's jacket. The one I bought her for Christmas," Abbey whispered, staring at the agent, while searching for and finding Jed's hand with her own.

"She was wearing it at the Arboretum," Charlie added, getting to his feet and resuming his pacing.

"What does the note say?" Ron asked, speaking into the phone. He nodded to another agent wearing a headset, who began writing frantically as the officer on the scene read the note.

"What do they want? Money? What are the demands?" Jed shouted in frustration, standing and walking towards the table where Ron and Mac were stationed.

"I’m not sure I understand," Ron answered the President, his tone indicating his confusion. "The note seems to be a poem or something." The agent began reading aloud.

_"The quality of mercy is not strain'd,_

_It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven_

_Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;_

_It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:_

_'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes_

_The throned monarch better than his crown;_

_His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,_

_The attribute to awe and majesty,_

_Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;_

_But mercy is above this sceptred sway;_

_It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,_

_It is an attribute to God himself;_

_And earthly power doth then show likest God's_

_When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,_

_Though justice be thy plea, consider this,_

_That, in the course of justice, none of us_

_Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;_

_And that same prayer doth teach us all to render_

_The deeds of mercy."_

"It's from The Merchant of Venice," Jed whispered, looking to his side as Abbey appeared and took hold of his arm. "But what does Sophia Cruz want of me? I can't undo what was done."

"What about the photos?" Mac asked Ron. "Do they show Zoey?"

Ron listened to the agent, then looked directly at the First Couple. "The first photo has the date 1956, it's a woman and a baby, and on the back is written, Simon and Mom. The other photo is from 1973 and on the back is written Randi and her Dad. From the description the team leader is giving me, I think the man is Simon Cruz."

Excited chatter filled the room as the news confirmed their theories.

Frowning, Mac tossed down his headset and crossed the room. Without asking for permission, he poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on a side table and tossed it back in one swallow.

This situation brought back too many bad memories. The same memories that had caused him to buy a cab and spend most of his time with a four-legged companion.

He started to pour himself another, but Debbie's hand covered the glass. 

"Come sit with me," she whispered. "You can't control what happens now. You've done your best."

Mac took a deep breath and set the decanter down. Not looking at her yet, he blinked the demons from his eyes. "Someday soon we're going to have to talk about some things more serious than alpacas, cards, and singing dogs."

She shrugged. "When this is over, I'll take a few days off. We'll get away somewhere, just the two of us."

He turned his head and gave her a hopeful look "My fishing cabin?"

Debbie patted his arm. "Don't count on that."

Mac gave her a slight smile and they rejoined the anxious group gathered around Ron and the President.

"But where is Zoey?" Abbey cried, tugging on her husband's arm. "It's after midnight, Jed. What have they done with her?" 

"I don't know Abbey, I just don't know," Jed said wearily, sliding an arm around his wife's waist.

"Where's my baby girl?" he demanded of Ron and the room fell silent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the Potomac River, in a darkened strip mall in Arlington, Virginia, Randi Weathers picked the lock of an old-fashioned deli. In her black jeans and matching t-shirt, she blended into the shadows, disappearing entirely once she entered the store.

It didn't take her long to disable the cheap alarm by the door, even less time to confirm that the small deli was empty.

Randi left the store for a few minutes, returning to the car that was parked beside the building.

Slowly she dragged a limp body across the tiled floor to a telephone booth. She propped the body up on the old wooden seat, and attached a note to the black tank top with a safety pin. 

Easing her way out of the deli, Randi slid back into a waiting car, the beads of the rosary being fingered by the elderly woman in the passenger seat rattling in the darkness. 


	13. Rebound 13

**Rebound**

**by:** Rhonda and Evelyn

**Character(s):** Most  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna, CJ/Danny, Will/Ainsley, Mac/Debbie  
**Category(s):** Post-episode for "25"   
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** They’re not ours and never will be.  
**Summary:** Who really kidnapped Zoey Bartlet and why?  
**Author's Note:** Follows "Bouncing Inaugural Balls" and "Bouncing Back"  
**Feedback:**

* * *

Monday, 10:00 am

He jerked awake, unsure of his surroundings. He must have fallen asleep, and a quick glimpse at his watch told him that he'd actually slept for over an hour. He felt his heart start to race and panic setting in. He remembered, as tears sprung to his eyes, the phone call from the agents informing them that Randi Weather's apartment was empty, except for Zoey's silk jacket and the soliloquy from The Merchant of Venice on the quality of mercy. 

Five desperate hours passed as the authorities combed the area for clues to Zoey's whereabouts ... or as he feared, her body. And then the unthinkable happened. At 5:00 am, Choi Soon, a Korean immigrant and owner of Blue Mountain Deli in Arlington, Virginia, opened up for the morning commuters. In the back of his store, in an old-fashioned wooden telephone booth, he found the limp body of a young woman he recognized from the television reports that had flooded the airways for 24 hours. The handwritten note to President Josiah Bartlet was simple. "I prayed for a phone call that would spare the life of my child. My call didn't come but I give that gift to you."

Jed Bartlet rubbed his eyes of the unwanted tears, looked around, and finally relaxed. In a hospital bed, IVs snaking from her arm, lay his baby daughter. Zoey was alive, sleeping off the effects of the drug cocktail that Sophia and Randi had given her to keep her sedated. The doctors said there would be no lasting physical effects; there was no need to mention the emotional aftershocks from the ordeal. A call to Stanley Keyworth had already been made.

The President glanced to the left of the bed and sighed as he watched the slow rise and fall of Abbey's chest. She was fast asleep in a chair, her hand outstretched through the bed rails and holding fast to her daughter's hand. He and Abbey could use some sessions with Stanley too. Zoey might be back, but the cracks in their marriage had widened.

And on the right side of the bed, in a hard, metal folding chair, awake and alert, was Charlie, eyes fixed on the young woman in the bed, his hand softly stroking her arm. Jed wasn't sure that Charlie and Zoey had a future together, but he had no doubt that Charlie was going to do his best to convince Zoey of it.

"You should go home and get some rest," the President whispered, grimacing as he stretched his stiff limbs.

"I promised I'd be here when she woke up," the aide answered.

"She's safe, Charlie. No one can harm her here. You haven't slept in days. Go home and get some rest," the Commander-in-Chief ordered.

"I promised," Charlie said firmly, in a tone he'd never used before with the President.

"Okay," Jed said softly, "Okay."

Both women started to stir at the sharp rap on the hospital door. Charlie gently stroked Zoey's arm, and the young woman seemed to settle back down. Abbey opened her eyes, but Jed held up his hand, "Everything's fine, go back to sleep," and the older woman smiled and closed her eyes again.

Bartlet stepped out into the hospital corridor which had been cordoned off by the Secret Service and faced the head of his detail. Ron Butterfield stood at attention, composed and with no outward sign of the chaos of the previous 36 hours other than a few more lines on his face than had been there earlier.

"Sophia Cruz is dead," the agent said simply.

Bartlet nodded, half expecting that news. "How?" 

"We spotted their vehicle on I-93 in New Hampshire and set up a roadblock near White Mountain National Forest. At first the agents on the scene thought that Weathers was going to try and run the roadblock and were prepared to shoot out the tires of the car, but she stopped. Agents ordered Weathers and Cruz to get out of the car with their hands up, which they did. Weathers then asked to adjust the portable oxygen tank her grandmother had over her shoulder, and," Butterfield scowled, "in a breach of procedure, the agent permitted Weathers, uncuffed, to walk over to her grandmother. She reached into the canvas bag holding the tank and drew a revolver, spun around and started to fire, ducking behind the car for cover."

"I thought you said Sophia Cruz was dead?" Bartlet asked, confused.

"She is," Butterfield explained, clearly frustrated. "As the agents returned the fire, Sophia Cruz stepped in front of her granddaughter and was struck by a hail of bullets. At that point, Randi Weathers threw down her gun and surrendered. She's being brought back to DC right now."

"Any of our agents on the scene hurt?"

"No, Sir."

"Thank God, " Bartlet sighed.

"Yes, Sir. We'll need to interview Zoey," Butterfield said softly.

"She doesn't remember much. She told Charlie that Randi stopped her as she made her way to the bathroom, told her of an emergency and that they needed to exit the club immediately. As they were walking down those back steps, Randi asked for her panic button, and that's about it. As soon as they got to the alley, Randi grabbed her, covered her face with a cloth that had some foul-smelling odor . . ." Bartlet recounted, agitation growing in his voice.

"Chloroform, I suspect," Butterfield added.

Bartlet nodded, then continued. "She doesn't remember much of anything else until she woke up here in the hospital."

"They had her sedated pretty heavily," the agent explained. "We'll do a full interrogation of Weathers when we get her back to headquarters, but the agent at the scene reports that she insists that her grandmother had nothing to do with Molly's death. It wasn't part of the original plan."

"That's of little comfort to Molly's parents," Bartlet said bitterly. "I'm going back in." Bartlet gestured to his daughter's hospital room. "The area is secure?" he asked, fear creeping back into his voice.

"Yes, Sir. This floor is empty of all patients except for your daughter. I've selected each agent on the detail. We're rerunning all background checks, Sir, but I feel confident that the group of agents currently on duty are safe. All medical personnel have also been vetted. And no one is permitted on the floor, including White House staff, although ..."

"The work can wait or Leo can handle it," Bartlet said impatiently. "I should have let Walken stay as President for a few more hours."

"No, Sir. It's just that Josh and several of the other senior staff wondered if they could just see your daughter and you for a moment. I've said no, but agreed to ask you."

"They're here?" Bartlet was surprised.

"Yes, Sir. They've been here since Zoey was brought in. They visited Toby, Congresswoman Wyatt, and the babies, and have been waiting in the lobby. I can tell them to go if you'd rather," Butterfield offered.

"No," the President said forcefully. "I want to see them. Bring them up."

The Secret Service agent spoke quickly into his walkie-talkie. In a few moments, the elevator doors opened and out walked Josh and Donna, hand-in-hand, followed by CJ and Danny, also with hands clasped firmly together. Will Bailey emerged next, his hand resting on the back of a small diminutive blonde. Bringing up the rear was Debbie Fiderer, and close by her side was Mac Sullivan. The President of the United States smiled, the first fully relaxed grin he'd had in what seemed like years. Had it only been two days, he wondered?

"Mr. President," Josh said softly, as he neared his Commander-in-Chief. "How's Zoey?"

"She's doing fine. The doctors say the drugs should be out of her system within 24 hours. She'll have a bad headache, but that should pass after another day or so." The President looked down at the floor, trying to gain control and not let the tears overflow. When he finally looked up again, he took a deep breath and continued. "Abbey and I can't begin to thank you ..." and then the emotions started to overwhelm him and he couldn't continue.

"Sir, we were glad to help," CJ spoke up, reaching out to touch her boss' arm.

"How's Charlie?" Donna asked.

"He won't leave her side," Bartlet said with a small smile. "I have a feeling that Zoey is going to be shadowed by either my wife or Charlie for the foreseeable future. Hell, maybe both."

The conversation stalled at that point, everyone thinking about the young woman lying unconscious in the adjacent room.

Donna was the one to break the silence. She shyly changed the subject to something happier. "We just saw Toby and the babies. They're beautiful."

"They're wrinkled, red, and bald, sort of like their father," Josh joked, dodging a slap on the head by CJ. 

Everyone laughed and Ron Butterfield made noises indicating that the visit should be ending.

"Ainsley?" The President stopped her with a hand on her elbow. "Thank you for coming back to the White House and helping out during this crisis." 

The young lawyer smiled. "Oh, no, Sir. It is I that should be thanking you for giving me the opportunity to serve my country once again."

Bartlet smiled and shook her hand, thinking he was going to miss listening to her unusual way of stringing a sentence together.

"Will?" 

The young speechwriter turned back as the President called his name. 

"Walken said you did a good job for him. I appreciate it. It was one less thing I had to worry about - knowing you were working with him and his staff, looking out for the Administration's interests."

Will blushed. "I just did what I was told to. They didn't really need much . . ."

"Nonsense. Sometimes just being there is enough to ward off problems," Bartlet sternly advised him. "Don't minimize your value."

"Say thank you, Goatboy - so we can get out of here," Mac gruffly interrupted. "I'm getting older by the minute."

Jed laughed. "Mac Sullivan, you come see me if you ever want to give up driving that cab. I'll make Ron give you a real job."

"No, thanks," Mac quickly responded. "I'm retired from all that."

Everyone laughed again. 

"I am," he protested as Debbie pulled him towards the elevator. "Why are they laughing?"

Bartlet called after the group as they followed Mac and Debbie.

"Everyone take the rest of the day off. I don't want any of you back in the White House before   8 am tomorrow. I already told Leo to let the second string handle the rest of today's emergencies. Get some sleep or better yet have some fun."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So what should we do?" Donna asked, as the group exited the elevator. 

They all just looked at her. None of them were used to having spare time to fill.

"I was just going to go home and get some sleep," Josh slowly responded, seeing his fantasy of spending the afternoon and evening in bed with Donna slipping away.

CJ smiled, ignoring Josh's comment and the hand signals Danny was making. "You mean all of us do something together? That's a great idea."

"We could have lunch and make plans," Ainsley chirped. "I know a great place about two blocks from here that has the best barbeque and baked beans. They have this special ..."

"We're wasting time, besides blocking traffic," Mac interrupted, moving Ainsley and CJ out of the way so that people could get on the elevator.

"If you want to barbeque you can come to my house," Debbie said, starting towards the exit doors. "My last ex-husband put a gas grill in the back yard near the pool. If someone can figure out how to use it, you're welcome."

"You have a pool?" Donna smiled. "Josh, I need to stop for sunscreen on our way over to Debbie's."

"Don't you want a nap first?" Josh whined. "We could drive over later."

"Josh." Donna laughed. "I feel great. I want to celebrate with our friends."

He pouted, but she ignored him and jogged to catch up with CJ.

"Okay, but I'm in charge of cooking the meat," Josh loudly announced, following Donna and CJ out the automatic doors as they debated the merits of various skin care products.

"No one is going to let you char their steak," Danny responded, clapping the Deputy Chief of Staff on the back. "I'll take charge of the grill."

"Hey, no one ever got sick eating meat I've prepared," Josh retorted. "Besides you're going to be too busy pulling CJ out of the pool. She's got a habit of falling in fully clothed."

Danny's eyes sparkled. "You're absolutely right, you should do the cooking. My services will be needed helping CJ out of those wet clothes. Wonder if Debbie has a pool house?"

"I've had experience using a charcoal grill," Will volunteered. "First thing I learned was that you never squirt lighter fluid on the charcoal before you light it. Did you know it takes almost three months for eyebrows to grow back?"

Danny and Josh stopped and looked at the younger man. Danny nodded at Josh who patted Will on the back, saying, "You can be in charge of the drinks."

"Will and I can stop by the grocery and pick up some food," Ainsley volunteered, as she caught up to the three men. "We should get some hot dogs too. Maybe some corn on the cob. We'll also need to stop by a bakery. And we absolutely have to have pie. And ice cream. Will, honey - you need to be writing this down."

Mac brought up the rear, thinking maybe he'd go pick up some anti-acids - and Whiskey. She was always up for a party.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2:00 pm, Monday afternoon

Jed and Abbey sat quietly, looking at the empty hospital bed, waiting for Zoey to come back from the latest round of tests her doctor had ordered. 

Charlie had refused to stay behind, so Zoey had asked them to wait in the room. Their hovering was already beginning to annoy the rapidly-recovering young woman.

"Do you think there will ever come a time now when Zoey can be out of our sight for more than a few minutes without us worrying?" Abbey mused, getting to her feet and smoothing the wrinkled bed sheets.

Jed chuckled but didn't answer her question. 

He wasn't going to bring it up, Abbey thought, fluffing the pillow. Like always, if she wanted to talk about it - she would have to do it.

Abbey held the pillow against her chest, turning to face her husband. "I read the note Sophia Cruz left pinned to Zoey's clothes." 

Jed nodded. "Ron told me you asked to see it."

"She was wrong you know." Abbey waited for him to look at her again. "Revenge is not more important than life. Sophia Cruz gave up everything, including her granddaughter's future, to get it."

Jed got to his feet and walked over to the room's one window. The parking lot a dozen floors below was crowded with people and cars moving back and forth. "Maybe if I’d listened ..." His voice trailed off as his mind was filled with images and words of the people who'd urged him to stay Simon Cruz's execution.

Abbey put down the pillow and walked over to stand beside him. "You couldn't have given her back her son - he was gone from her the moment he pulled the trigger and killed those men. Actually, he was gone from her the moment he decided that dealing drugs was a good career choice."

He sighed, continuing to stare down at the people and the cars in the parking lot, thinking they were a lot like chess pieces. One wrong move and ... "We all make choices and others have to live with the consequences. I chose to run for office. I knew neither you nor the girls wanted this kind of life. But I wanted it, so I charged straight ahead dragging all of you with me. You were right yesterday to blame me for Zoey's kidnapping. It is my fault."

Abbey touched his arm and he looked at her. "No, Jed. I was wrong to blame you. I was afraid and angry and felt powerless to do anything to help Zoey. Striking out at you was wrong. Our life - our marriage - you didn't control me. I knew what I was getting into when I married you. I made decisions along the way, too."

"What do we do now?" Jed asked, reaching out to touch the side of her face. "What do you want to happen now?"

Abbey smiled. "First I want you to kiss me like you did when I was twenty and then I want us to go to a party."

He raised his eyebrows. "The thing at Debbie's? I think Leo was joking when he called saying we should meet him there."

"Joking or not, that's what I want. Zoey will be fine here with Charlie and the hundred or so armed men on this floor."

"But . ." He searched for an excuse. There were thousands of reasons why he couldn't, why they shouldn't.

"No buts. I want to eat Josh's burnt hamburgers and watch him watch Donna. I want to be there when CJ falls into the pool. I want to talk to Ainsley about fried chicken and sweet potato pie. I want to see Will blush when you compliment him on his work. I want to hear Mac's dog sing again. I want ... Jed, I want us to be like normal people - just for the rest of today." Abbey stared at him, her eyes pleading for more than just their attendance at a party.

"Okay. Butterfield is going to have a fit, but we'll drop in on the pool party." Jed grinned. "But you're going to have to show me the difference between how I kiss you now and how I did it 35 years ago. That could take a little time."

Abbey reached up and slid one hand behind his head. "You always were a slow learner, Jethro."

The End


End file.
